


She Found Loyalty Under A Rock

by Clumsypinktiger



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, But Geralt and Dany kick ass, Crack Crossover, Drogon being the goodest boy, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow burns are hard! But I'll try, Smut, Some Near Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clumsypinktiger/pseuds/Clumsypinktiger
Summary: Drogon brings Dany through an inter-world portal to try to save her. Geralt of Rivia helps nurse her back to life, but when two strong wills meet will they help each other or spend more time growling at one another? Their happiness lies in the hands of the other—and one grumpy Dragon. Daenerys will have some tough choices to make.
Relationships: Geralt of Rivia/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 173
Kudos: 243





	1. Unlikely Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> This was an earworm that was powerful enough to stop my years-long dry spell. It also scratches a particular itch that I don’t really see in any other story out there yet. It’s definitely edging on the side of a crack fic. But, there are plot plans in there too. Geralt has not made the claim of child surprise resulting in him being responsible for Ciri. I don’t want him to be a child abandoner! Doesn’t work for my characterization of him here. I also realize that breaks a lot of the Witcher’s plot, so I’m stealing Geralt for the sake of our Queen. I do make use of some details from the Witcher video games because awesome (take liberties too). Also, I won’t be too true to either universe (I’m sure I’ll mess up lore/locations so sorry!!), this is more about Geralt and Dany meeting, taking the piss out of each other, helping one another, and something more (if their pride will allow. Hah!) 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~*******  
> Translator (Valyrian):  
> Daor : No  
> Kirimvose : Thank you  
> Ao issi sīr gevie: You are beautiful  
> Issi ao se ānogar hen uēpa valyrio: Are you the blood of old Valyria
> 
> Translator (Dothraki):  
> Qoy Qoyi: Blood of my blood

The pesky, small, flammable-skins that had betrayed her thought he was flying her to Essos--that he would bring her to the temple of the Red Priestesses for resurrection. He knew they were part of what set her on this path in the first place, seeking that smelly, pointy, sword-chair. He had lost both of his fire-brothers to their enemies, first the cold ones, then to the stinky, water-flammable-skins. The last few moons mommy had been different, the bond had felt blurry, muddied even. His dragon instincts warned him it was some unseen foe that meddled with her mind.

At the end, even the black-haired-dragon-king betrayed her. He smelled ok, but was too easily led. What dragon blood denied his protective instincts and trusted false council against love? 

In the thick ether of his bond to her, he knew that all she ever wanted was a safe nest to raise her own younglings. He and his brothers were her kin, but not of her womb. He found comfort at her breast when he was a wingling, but he felt the longing deep in her heart when she thought his dragon senses were not aware. His dragon awareness was deeper, fiercer than a human’s, but his communication and perception were so vast, he could not express these things to her--except in glimpses: _protect, rend, burn, eat, sleep, joy, trust, mistrust, love, rage._ Now he could finally make her see. He would take her to the place all dragons knew, but not all could reach. It would take many moons to get there and many boundaries only dragons could see, and even then only one of his strength had a chance of surviving the journey but he had to try to save the only thing in this world that mattered to Drogon, Daenerys Targaryen, his mommy.

His wings surged him through the cosmic portal as he reached out to other dragons in a distant world.

****

Geralt of Rivia’s head felt like a Striga had sucked on his eyeballs until they were dry. He was reticent to blame Yennefer’s recent disavowing of whatever their. . .thing. . .was as the cause. Maybe the hawthorn he used to brew his most recent stock of potions was more spoiled than he thought. Or could it be the drink he bought at the tavern? With his Witcher metabolism and abilities, it took a tremendous amount of ale or wine to allow him to feel even the slightest effects. So unlikely there too, although he had certainly tried last night with what was left in the flasks. 

Definitely. That was it. He grunted. Jaskier had left as well. Geralt was decidedly to blame for that, but, well--no point in saying that out loud.

“Fuck.” 

His lame attempts at getting a bit more rest before pushing on completely from the spot where he helped the Golden Dragon, Borch, were a complete and utter failure. He was less than 3 leagues from the spot. At least he managed to meet back up with his horse. By the set of the stars in the black sky, it wasn’t much past midnight. He sighed and glanced sidelong to where he had picketed Roach.

As if sensing he was awake and shouldn’t be, his horse harumphed at him in horsey tones.

“You’re right, I should be sleeping. But fuck-all if it’s not quite working.” Geralt froze with supernatural stillness as he made out distant crashing through the underbrush. His pupils dilated as he drew a quiet breath. _Human_. _Not Monster._ _Likely a group of three on foot._ Why they would be wandering about at this time of night was beyond him. He thought about plugging his ears with bits of extra leather (not that it would really block out his powerful hearing abilities).

But, he certainly had no interest in getting dragged into another bullshit need to save some fools wandering about at night, which he would feel duty-bound to do if he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear them.

“The bones should be around this ridge somewhere!” The one with the clumsiest feet whispered (really more like yelled. Terrible whisperer that one). They all sounded like a herd of buffalo stampeding through the forest for all the noise they were making, if there were any monsters on the hunt for flesh, they would certainly come running at the beacon they were sending up: dumb humans, over here! 

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and reached for his swords and set about tightening his armour and making quick work of his campsite.

“That old woman said there’d be coin in it for us if we could bring her proof of the black beast that’s eating her flock,” a second said. This one had a nasally voice.

“Stupid old bag thinks she saw a dragon! That’s why we are just bringing her some goat bones we char over the fire and call it proof and be done with it.” This one sounded like he had swallowed charred coals for breakfast.

“Aye, I’ll be damned if it is a dragon and we get killed for nothing,” Nasally said.

“Maybe we could just hire a witcher like she asked and get him to die for us and call that proof!” The first retorted.

 _That did it_ , he was not saving these fuckers. If there was a dragon nearby that Geralt somehow missed sensing, perhaps he should offer to help said dragon kill these fools instead. Even so, they were getting closer to crashing right through his campsite, so might as well move on. He had just scattered the dried ashes from his campfire and was mounting Roach when he heard screaming.

“IT’S A FELL BEAST RUN!!” Nasally’s voice also had the ability to squeak, how lovely. 

“OUT OF MY WAY.” Gravelly sacrificed his companions if the sound of tripping was anything to go by. 

Geralt took a deep breath, _another Hirikka by the smell of it_ . _How unusual given how rare they are. She was likely masking her scent until they traipsed by._

An obnoxiously piercing scream was the only acknowledgement the third human gave as the trio of them fled. Geralt turned Roach into a trot as he routed to where he smelled the Hirikka. He still had some dried fruit and nuts he could offer the beast that was likely as hungry as the last.

Sure enough, as he came around the other side of the ridge he had been camping on where the fools had been traipsing about, he found a famished Hirikka. He dismounted and laid the offering of food on the ground midway between himself and the creature as he backed away. 

A glimmer of recognition and a whimper was all the thanks he got as the Hirikka snatched the food and scampered back into the underbrush. 

The three morons had only managed to run in a circle in their panic and were coming back in his direction now.

Geralt grunted. _Unavoidable now_.

“QUIET!” He growled at them as they neared. Two of the three tripped and fell backwards into one another on the ground. The third looked to be about to piss himself.

“A WITCHER! Help us!” One of the ones on the ground whimpered. 

“Your ‘fell beast’ was just a hungry Hirikka, and she’s gone now.” They gaped at him.

He eyed them with annoyance.

“Where is this old woman with the dragon problem?”

*******

After dumb, dumber, and dumbest led him into a small town about three miles up-river, the group made their way back to their homes with embarassment. It’s a wonder they ever made the walk into the woods in the first place, only by the grace of the moon’s brightness tonight they have a chance. None of them were man enough to offer thanks to their savior and protector on the way back.

“Err, the old woman lives on the edge of town, to the east.” Nasally offered awkwardly. Geralt grunted his acknowledgement. 

He took his leave of them and decided to grab a meal and what meagre sleep he could for the rest of the night at the inn nearby before setting out to pay the woman a visit. Neither the conversations he overheard, nor the innkeeper himself offered any additional information. No one had heard tell of or was discussing a dragon nearby. Geralt’s tiny bit of sleep was restless, but better than nothing. 

With Roach safely settled at the innkeep’s barn with water, oats, and fresh hay, Geralt gazed about as dawn was making its first glimpses on the horizon. He walked slowly to the eastern edge of the small town. Other than the cave where Borch and his mate were hiding nearly 4 leagues back now, there seemed no good spot for another dragon to take cover nearby; unless a mated pair or pair with their brood, dragons did not tend to share lairs. Further, they were rare enough that it wouldn’t be necessary. No, it couldn’t be another dragon. 

The town was small and only a handful of folks were up before dawn, a small-statured smithy eyed Geralt warily as he walked past the open-air forge. A middle-aged woman with deep frown-lines was setting her wares in a fruit stall and averted her eyes in fear as he walked by.

He was more than used to the looks by now, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them. 

It took him about ten minutes of slow walking to reach the eastern edge of town when he encountered what he could only call a hovel of a house with a small flock of about 6 goats crowded in a pen.

A greying head poked out from under a tarp covering the doorway.

“A Witcher! At last. I thought those damn fools hadn’t taken my request seriously.” She hobbled her way to him on her makeshift wooden cane.

“Hmm.” He nodded in greeting. _Trust me, they didn’t_ , he thought. Geralt eyed her and noted both of her eyes were quite cloudy. He walked closer to better hear her tale. He had learned not to expect any hospitality from anyone so he was never disappointed. Might as well get straight to the point.

“You say you’ve seen a dragon taking your goats?”

“Aye! A giant black dread of a dragon with hues of red in his scales! He flew on silent wings I tell you. Faster than lightning, more deadly than any storm. He swooped down and snatched two goats in each of his giant claws and flew off.”

“Did he breathe fire?” Geralt scrutinized her and her milky white eyes. 

“Not a one. He seemed a smart and reasonable sort. Didn’t want to do me harm when he could have--even with me screaming bloody murder at him. Had a good mother that one.” She nodded her head primely.

 _What an odd thing to say._ Geralt’s raised his brows in question. First, the dragon sounded unlike any he had ever seen--even more so that it’s a black dragon with red coloration. Secondly, what sort screams retaliation at a dragon of that size?

“Did he only show the once?” Geralt asked.

“Yes. He arrived a week ago yesterday. And flew off to the west toward where they hunted that other green dragon, yes.” _Interesting_. Word travels quickly, but usually not that quickly. Although his pendant wasn’t vibrating, there was something off about this woman. He smelled no magic or foul intent, just, something other on the edge of his senses. 

“I’ll look into it, but I don’t kill dragons.” Geralt grumbled.

“I know you don’t, Borch trusted you and I will too.” _That at least explains the smell if she was indeed like Borch._

She smiled knowingly. 

“Be careful when you approach the black dread come again, for he is nothing like us, the dragons of this realm. He has crossed through time and space to save that which is most precious to him.”

“What?” Geralt growled. 

“A true witcher’s loyalty cannot be bought and Geralt of Rivia’s runs deeper than all others. Only you can save the last dragon.”

With that the old woman vanished as though she were never there. Geralt sighed and eyed the nearest goat as it munched on grass.

“You knew this would happen didn’t you?”

Tongue out in mockery the goat bleated at him.

Once back at the inn, Geralt collected Roach and a bit more food for the road--though no ale this time--just in case, that headache sucked.

“Back west we go, girl.” If he did have to head back to Borch, he would let him know he didn’t appreciate being run around in circles for dragon chores. Although, he supposed it was better than helping humans for a change. He set off through the town to the trail that would lead him back in the direction of the cave where Borch’s mate and egg sought refuge. More than 4 days ride at least if he took his time.

*****

Deciding that it made more sense to take a different route on the return trip, he would have encountered signs of a dragon that size before, he reasoned, Geralt was making his way through a lower cliff’s edge on the way to the higher peaks that housed the cave when he felt it. A deep rumbling like an earth tremor. _Or a growl._

He closed his eyes and felt the sound and vibrations. It was as though the sound was coming from within the rock itself. Deciding that now was the time as dusk was gathering, he reached into his pouch and downed one of his more powerful and dangerous potions, allowing him sight in even the darkest of nights. He had no intentions to fight this dragon, but he also didn’t want Roach to end up as supper either--so his strongest sight would be needed here. Taking her along had been a risk. But, he decided to trust in a dragon more than to leave her behind for unknown humans or monsters. He was regretting it a bit now if the force of the rumbling indicating truth about the size and ferocity of this dragon.

As he looked about with his eyes now fully dilated so that his pupils consumed the whole of their surface, he saw an opening in the rock that had been hidden by its strations, like an optical illusion--or magic more likely. He never would have noticed it without the potion.

Roach whineyed her distaste for their direction. He ran his hand soothingly down her neck as he eased her forward into the tunnel into the rock. The light diminished drastically once they rounded the first corner in the tunnel. Seeing a natural hook shape in the rock. Geralt decided not to force Roach any further into the tunnel and picketed her there with a carrot snack.

He continued on into the tunnel, pausing every so often to listen and smell. The rumbling continued and grew in volume the further he went. He caught smells of fire, ashes, and thick hide. _Definitely a dragon._ But there was something else, _crushed roses, rain and ozone, before a storm breaks on the sea, clean and powerful_. The growling ceased abruptly. He had been noticed.

As he rounded a final corner in the narrow tunnel, it opened into a ceiling-less cave that had to be at least two miles across. Now he knew how the dragon came and went. But he must be protecting something as Borch’s mate was, or he would have moved on. Goat bones to the left. _Well, that explains that._

And to the right . . .The old woman was right. This dragon was unlike any Geralt had ever seen or heard of.

Geralt’s eyes--black as night--met a deep knowing red. Eyes of monster met eyes of monster on equal footing. The head of the dragon alone was larger than Geralt’s entire frame. This dragon was enormous--fierce--with two massive horns atop his head and an arrangement of smaller ones like a crown. Scales black as obsidian with coal-red lowlights beneath. An even more massive body followed with a wingspan that was beyond what any would think possible.

_A royal dragon to be sure._

“Can you speak?”

After a few seconds of assessment, the growling began anew, and the dragon graced Geralt with a lovely view of his sizable teeth. 

“Hmm. Not a talker.” Hot breath was puffed over his face and moved his hair as the dragon’s lips curled in warning. 

Geralt stood his ground and waited. As if in frustration or agony, the dragon let loose an ear-piercing and earth shattering roar up toward the night sky. Geralt had to cover his ears and stoop from the force of it. 

Shaking off the outburst like a dog would, Drogon shook his head and stared again at Geralt as he slowly lifted the wing closest to him, revealing the figure of a woman, prone on the ground.

Geralt’s brow furrowed as his enhanced vision caught her pale white hair in the dim light, her beautiful features. The smell of her slammed into him next (what he had a fleeting taste of before)--roses, ozone, and a storm upon the sea. He drank it in like a man starved. Beneath the smell was a putrid one, death. His eyes noticed the gleam off the pommel of a dagger lodged in her chest. Without thinking his feet carried him closer to her. Her dragon protector stuck his face in between and snarled for good measure.

Geralt was not one to forget himself when a pretty face came into view, but something was pulling him to this woman. He closed his eyes to compose himself and re-opening them again, he focused on sending his intent to help and not harm to her fearsome guard. 

He took the disgruntled grumble-whine the dragon let-loose for acquiesce as the dragon dropped his head down and shifted to allow Geralt a path between his body parts and the woman he protected.

Once close enough, he kneeled beside her and felt for a pulse. It was faint, but there. The dagger had missed her heart and was likely keeping her alive by still being lodged in the arteries around it. Someone did a piss-poor and cowardly job of attempting to kill her. 

Geralt sighed. He had one chance, and more than likely using his witcher potions would kill her, just as they would a normal human, but she was dead anyway regardless. He wasn’t too sure how her large and fire-breathing guardian would feel if she died. _At least death by dragon is quick._

He made quick work of cutting the excess fabric around the blade away, leaving an exposed portion of skin under her breast. Mr. Dragon appeared to be content with his tending so far as he was observing and not grumbling, but now would come the shitty part.

Reaching into his pouch for the strongest vitality potion he had, Geralt gazed skyward and sighed--saying his goodbyes to the stars; he parted her lips and poured half down her throat and readied to pour the rest over the wound in her chest. 

With superhuman precision, he removed the dagger and immediately poured the potion over the wound. Her small frame seized as it reacted to the potion and her wound fizzled with the alchemic magic. Over Geralt’s shoulder the dragon growled dimly and bared his teeth.

Geralt met his gaze over his shoulder. 

“I give you permission to kill me should this fail.” The dragon grumbled and resumed observing quietly. Geralt concerned gaze refocused on the woman.

Geralt sat by and waited for her seizing to slow. A slight sheen of sweat grew on her forehead. _Good._ It means her body is fighting to save her. The wound was no longer bleeding and the muscle tissue beneath looked less shredded. But, even so, it was not working as fast as it would on someone suited to be a witcher. She’d definitely need more care, but it was promising--a normal human would have died from the toxicity by now.

She was certainly more than a normal human.

“Dragon.” The great being shifted in acknowledgement.

“I need to bring in my horse to give her water and clean and bandage the wound.”

The dragon sighed and closed his eyes in acceptance, resting his head on his legs.

Geralt returned moments later leading a very unhappy Roach, who grew even more agitated when she could see the enormous dragon in the rear of the cave. 

“Roach, meet Dragon. We are here to save his friend. I don’t think he prefers horsemeat.” Roach bumped Geralt aggressively in the chest. 

After slicing through his patient’s dress and bodice as carefully as he could to preserve her modesty, Geralt cleaned and bandaged the wound. Her sweating persisted and he could see her eyes moving beneath their lids--also a good sign. 

She murmured in her fever dream. 

“ _Daor . . .Jon. . .Daor!”_

“Hmm. If she dreams, she will wake. I need to hunt to gather food for her recovery. Can I trust you not to eat Roach?” 

This time, the Dragon didn’t even bother to open his eyes and instead let out a very sad clicking sound as he curled his large, rear leg closer to her body for warmth.

Roach stomped her hooves in irritation. 

“I’ll be back soon.”

****

A mere hour and change later, Geralt returned with four rabbits tied to his hips, full water skins, and a young stag slung over his back. Roach pranced merrily at his return and seemed no worse for wear. _He is a dragon of honor._ Geralt snorted to himself. 

Said Dragon lifted his head as Geralt dropped the stag before his massive maw. 

“This is for you. You seemed too worried to hunt.” Without warning, Drogon released a burst of flame and cooked the kill, then swallowed it in one gulp, happily smacking his gums as he gazed at Geralt.

“Hmmmmm.” Turning away from the Dragon he was rapidly growing to like, Geralt proceeded to gather firewood he had collected in the center of the cave for a fire. Once the ring of wood and kindling was set, he turned to gaze at the Dragon again with raised brows and gestured to the wood. 

Drogon just stared back and did nothing.

“Beneath your skills, I see.” Drawing the sign for Igni, Geralt ignited flames with magic and before long a fire was roaring and warming the cave even more. 

After tending to Roach with a large mouthed-water skin, spare oats, hay and a quick brush, Geralt set to cooking the rabbits and checked his patient. No longer aversed to the Dragon in any way, he leaned against his massive rear leg as he checked her pulse and looked for signs of spiking fever. She was recovering incredibly well. However, her body was on fire; but, the color of her skin looked less pallid and more healthy. _Perhaps fire in her blood is her sign of vitality. Protected by flame and made of it._ He touched the dragon’s skin, whose own temperature was more akin to his patient’s than Geralt’s.

He was able to get water down her throat. He was surprised when she started to stir. Her fortitude was much closer to that of a Witcher’s than he expected. Luckily, the fire in the cave was providing decent illumination in the cave now, as Geralt’s enhanced vision from the potion he took was wearing off. 

He gazed down at her face as her eyes opened. _Purple, her eyes were purple_ . _Fuck. This one already had him under her spell and she hadn’t yet said a thing._ The surging smell of roses, ozone, and a storm upon the sea was making him close to swaying.

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him, not in fear, but in question. He felt his own eyes shift back to yellow. She still had a faraway look in her eyes--like she was still waking up from a deep dream--death more like it. 

_“Kirimvose. Ao issi sīr gevie. . .Issi ao se ānogar hen uēpa valyrio?_ _Qoy Qoyi?”_ Her hand raised to touch his cheek. Her fingers just skimmed his jaw and the touch was like a _current_ running through his body. He shivered and closed his eyes. She seemed to shiver too; then it was like she came back to herself.

She reached a hand out to feel the dragon-flesh beside her and sighed in relief. 

“Drogon.” Tearing s in her purple eyes now. The dragon’s head appeared above them and he let out happy clicking noises as he wafted his warm breath over them. She giggled. 

“It’s so good to see you my son.” Geralt raised his eyebrows as he observed her.

Her eyes returned to his face.

“Who the fuck are you?!” She asked. 


	2. Sticks and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit more complicated for our two blondes as they are forced to flee their cozy cave. Tensions rise and awkwardness continues. Drogon at least gets a good meal or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O man, sorry it took me so LONG to post this. I will finish it, I swear! The world has just given me the finger the past few months. Hospital, work, ugh. Anyway. This story is my joy and I have it mapped out/mostly written. Although, I admit, I agonize over the scenes with our two stars together. I'm so worried about SUPER OOC-ness. Gah! Let me know if it's still good. Sorry sorry for the long wait. Love to everyone.
> 
> Translations/Notes:  
>  Geralt makes use of two more of his many magic signs from the Witcher video games here. One is called Aard, the other (toward the end of the chapter) is called Axii for anyone who hasn’t played/is curious.
> 
> Issi ao se ānogar hen uēpa valyrio : are you the blood of old Valyria?  
> Issa tresy, issa jorrāelagon : my son, my love  
> Sōvēs: fly  
> Kirimvose syt bearing īlva: thank you for bearing us
> 
> Many hours Earlier. . .

_ Many hours Earlier. . . _

This one did not smell like other men, foul, weak-willed, and easily led . . .  _ soft. _ The golden, small-dragon was right. This must be the one meant to help mother. 

He was making his way through the enchantment of the entrance now, which the golden dragon had placed there to keep any but those intended from reaching them. 

His blood was not hot like the blood of the dragon--mother’s blood. It felt cool, like the deep water of the sea at night. He smelled of dark mountains and hidden valleys, lost spice and flavors on his dragon’s tongue.  _ Rare, unique, strong. _ His blood was thick as his heart beat fiercely in his chest, faster than mother’s but not from fear. He sensed no fear as he felt him enter the cave. _ This one _ would make a much better mate to mother.

Drogon needed to rest now, it had taken much of his energy to reach this world and then communicate telepathically with the other dragons, even then, only the gold dragon was old enough and strong enough to recognize true dragon speech, which was more like images and feelings. The others here have been weakened by long hunting and lack of brethren. Not unlike what was done to them in Westeros before he and his brothers were born. Now that this one was here and could tend to mother, Drogon could rest. 

***********

_ Some Moments earlier . . . _

“I’m glad you’ve found the Mother of Dragons, Geralt of Rivia.” 

Geralt sighed as he heard the familiar voice materialize behind him--he was returning from his hunt to catch rabbits for himself and his patient and a stag for the large dragon. He could feel the shimmer of a magic presence tickling his senses only just seconds ago. It’s no wonder Borch was so good at concealing himself. Geralt’s abilities made it much easier to sniff out other magical beings, but not this one.

“Why am I not surprised you have something to do with this, Borch.” He smirked as he eyed the human form of the ancient Gold Dragon. “Who is watching your egg if you are protecting this dragon?” He jerked his head in the direction of the cave.

Borch’s smile was knowing and showed just a hit of his canine teeth.

“You forget that I am not without resources or friends in many forms. Know that my egg is well protected and safe.”

“Mmmmm . . . then this particular dragon must be very important for you to guard him personally.”

“The Black Dread Come Again reached out to me from beyond the barrier of this world.”

Geralt raised a single brow.

“I’m guessing the old woman from town some miles west of here is a friend of yours?” 

Borch chuckled.

“She’s another dragon I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in all my long years.”

“She also takes on the form of a human when it pleases her?” 

Borch drew in a breath and nodded.

“The call of the Black reached out to all of the dragons in this world. But, only the oldest among us understood what the call meant, and only one could answer back. It came from a place only talked of in myth.”

“I thought you were the most well-traveled dragon of them all?” 

“Age does not always account for strength, my friend. The Black Dread may be young, but his strength far exceeds mine.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt shifted the stag casually on his shoulders, like he was adjusting a pauldron--an after-thought and no major strain to his enhanced strength.

“Know this, it took much of his magic power to reach this world. He will need to rest and recuperate for a time to regain his power.”

“How did he cross over? And how did you know of him?” Geralt gazed back at the cave.

“By opening a portal not unlike what a Sorceress may do in our world; but, his power allowed him to cross the barrier. I merely helped guide his direction so he did not become lost. I knew not of him, only his ancestor, Belarion. ”

Geralt grimaced. 

“You know of the great conquering Belarion.” A statement said with surprise. 

“Only pieces of children’s fables they would tell the young Witchers at Kaer Morhen. Stories of a powerful dragon and master from another world conquering all who defied him.”

“Not a master, a rider—-with the blood of the dragon. You know better than anyone that dragons bond fiercely with whom they choose to protect, but it is a choice and a balance, never forced servitude.”

“A dragon is not a slave—no more than a Witcher.”

Borch nodded. A breeze took a few strands of Geralt’s hair like ghostly fingers.

Geralt sighed and shifted his weight.

“Why me?” His brows pinched as he asked.

“Because they are lost and you are meant to help them. This is part of your destiny. But, I think you already know that.”

“Hrggh,” a rumbling sigh “. . . I’m meant to protect them. For how long and from what?”

“When you gaze into her eyes, that will become more apparent.”

Geralt snorted. “Trying to set me up? Witcher’s don’t do feelings, remember?”

“Ah, I think you mistake my meaning on two fronts, my friend. But I can explain no further. You must seek the answers yourself.”

“What of the dragon, does he know what they run from?”

“I see the real question you ask, my friend. He cannot use human speech like I can because his blood is older, more ancient. His comes from the place where all dragons were born long ago. He came seeking the magic in this realm to help his mother. That is all I can say.”

Up went the other brow. Geralt glanced down at his feet.

“His mother?”

A silent and knowing gaze was his only response this time.

“Is she descended from the legendary rider if the dragon is the blood of Belarion?” Geralt said with gravel in his voice.

Borch smirked and gazed skyward. 

“You must meet the Mother of Dragons. I do not wish to interfere any further, but I am never far away.” 

“Riddles always bode well for long quests,” Geralt said on a drawn-out sigh.

Borch chuckled.

“Ahh, what we live for, my friend.” With that Borch dove backwards off the cliff.

Geralt shook his head and continued into the cave. 

***********

_ Now . . . _

“Who the fuck are you?!” Daenerys asked as she narrowed her eyes at the man before her. “And why are you so friendly with MY Drogon?” 

Geralt slowly tilted his head to look in Drogon’s nearest eye.

“A pleasure to meet you, Drogon,” who acknowledged him with a slow blink.

This man’s voice was shale over stone: deep, coarse, and rubbing into Dany’s ears, doing funny things to her stomach. 

In turn, the sound of her voice held power over him in a way Geralt was neither prepared for nor comfortable with.

She flinched at a flash of blurry memory, like water through a shattered and foggy mirror. Geralt caught her flinch in his peripherals.

“And who the fuck are  _ you _ ?” He asked with a raised brow and just the edge of a smirk.

Daenerys was taken aback. No one had dared to speak to her like that in quite a long while and no one had ever been accepted by any of her dragons so easily, especially Drogon. Fresh irritation coursed through her and nearly cleared the unhappy memory of her past life. 

“The last time I let a man this close to me, I ended up with a dagger in my chest.” Her voice was a finely polished blade, cutting and quick. She was so used to Drogon supporting that queenly punishment voice with a growl, that it set her back a bit not to hear it.  _ Drogon appeared to not want to fight this man? Why? _

Geralt tensed for a moment and changed his posture like he was dealing with a wounded and cornered predator. His face took on a sardonic expression. Drogon merely looked on, observing their interaction.

“Well, you are in luck, I’m not human.” 

She moved to sit up. She would look this one straight in the eye. 

As she started to sit up, she caught a better look at him in the flickering fire light. No moonlight broke through the ceiling of the cave, only muted stars. His hair shown with the pale starlight, his features something other:  _ long, rough, white blond hair; face hewn from the same rock as his voice; bright yellow eyes--like a great cat--or dragon; built like a warrior. He was nearly as tall as her Khal Drogo. Perhaps he is telling the truth, not exactly a man after all. _

She tried to sit up completely and gasped as pain sliced through her chest. Drogon clicked mournfully.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re still recovering.” Faster than she could comprehend, he was close to her again and was supporting her beneath both her shoulder blades.  _ He moves like a great cat too. _ Her jaw clenched--at least partly from the pain--as her eyes narrowed.

“Get. your. Hands. Off. me,” she bit through clenched teeth.

Geralt sighed. 

“Also not such a good idea.” He let her go for a half of a second and her muscles, exhausted from the healing process and everything else she’d faced, started to give out as she fell. 

In less than a breath, Geralt had caught her and was supporting her again.

She swallowed down that he was right--and also how calming his touch was. She’d have to depend on him, for now. 

Electric currents went up Geralt’s hands as he gripped her and supported her weight. For all his years of training to not react to his heightened senses unless necessary, his body was near overloaded from this mere contact.

Drogon grumbled and laid his head down, closing his eyes, seemingly satisfied that Geralt and Daenerys would be fine with one another now. Daenerys’ eyes cut to her son for only a moment, watching him go to sleep. She didn’t let up on the glare she was giving this  _ whatever he is _ in front of her.

“ _ Who. Are. You.”  _ She said with the whip of a queen in her voice. Without waiting for a response, she asked again in her mother tongue. “ _ Issi ao se ānogar hen uēpa valyrio? _ ?”

This language of hers only made her voice more beautiful.

“ . . . You asked me that when you first woke up . . .” a pause as he studied her magnificently blue-purple eyes studying him. 

Her brows furrowed.  _ I was talking in my sleep? I don’t remember asking him. _

“Geralt of Rivia. Not  _ valyrio,  _ but a Witcher.”

Her eyes looked over his clothing and pendant as she allowed herself to be set back down on her back.

“Geralt . . .of Rivia?” He nodded his head and had to bite his tongue to suppress the shiver that tried to run through him as his name left her lips.

He adjusted her a bit so she was laying propped upright against Drogon’s massive belly. It made her feel less vulnerable.  _ Safe.  _

He looked at her expectantly. She swallowed and cleared her throat.

“Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of her Name.” She said with much less gravitas than she was used to. 

_ Stormborn.  _ Geralt inhaled the smell of her, like static electricity over water, before a storm.  _ Pure, terrifying, beautiful. O Fuck.  _ He shook his head as if to clear it.

He never knew the name of the rider of Belarion from the old stories, not one of the witcher children ever took them seriously, now he wished he had paid more attention.

Oblivious to Geralt’s inner musings, Daenerys was swallowed too much by her own. There was pain in her name now, in having it leave her tongue. Still, only fragments of her memory seemed to work.  _ Screaming. Crying. Fire.  _ Her eyes grew distant.  _ What have I done? _

Geralt sighed. She was brought back from her muddied thoughts.

“Daenerys . . . Mmm . . . sounds like a Queen’s name. I don’t do politics.”

She faired less successfully in suppressing the shiver his hard voice gave her as he said her name. His watchful eyes caught it and he smirked inwardly.

Trying a different tactic, she snorted.

“Apparently, neither do I. . . And I’m not a Queen. Not anymore.” She eyed the bandage and torn clothing on her chest. 

“Someone did a shit job of letting you know.” His eyes shifted to the dagger cast on the ground a few feet away. It had been cleaned. 

She closed her eyes at the anguish that ran through her. Things were still blurry. But she remembered her last moments. _Jon._ _Why? Screaming. Crying. Fire. She was on Drogon. Rage . . . but it felt wrong and foreign to her. Fragments of someone else’s memories playing out of order._

“I should be dead.” She said with firmness as she opened her eyes again and looked at the dagger on the ground.

Geralt shifted his weight on his haunches and gave Drogon’s hide a pat, pausing for a moment before standing up and moving out of his close proximity to her.

“Well, you’re not. You’re here.”

For now she swallowed it all down. She just felt so tired, like she had died and been reborn.  _ Technically, I suppose I have. _

She swallowed and cleared the dryness from her throat.

“I suppose I should thank you for . . . healing me.”

“Hmm.” Really more a grumble than an acknowledgement. She raised an eyebrow as he made his way over to the fire to tend to something. 

She sat in quiet contemplation for a moment; she sent her mind down the bond with her son and sensing he was ok, but just as tired as she felt, she closed her eyes and focused on the heat and life of Drogon behind her, the crackling of the fire.

***********

“You need to eat.” He must have moved again while she was dozing. He sounded to be on her left shoulder now. She opened her eyes to see him handing her a juicey piece of what looked like fire-roasted rabbit.

He eyed her and gestured to the food. She merely stared back.

“I saw your wound, I know your arms aren’t crippled.” Her eyes narrowed as she reached out to snatch the food from him. The second it was in her hand she realized how starving she was and forgot all decorum as she dove her face full into the meat on a stick.

He chuckled. 

“Water?” He passed her a large water skin. She took large gulps and felt a surge of energy pulsing through her body, she felt a thousand times better, stronger. Once all that was left was tendon and bone on the small cooked rabbit, he took the remains and water skin from her. 

“How is this possible? Even now it feels better after only a few hours. . .” She prodded at the wound on her chest, her dress had been carefully and modestly cut around the now bandaged wound. Doubly thankful to him that he preserved her modesty (as much as he could given her wound’s location) and for the healing, although Daenerys certainly wasn’t one to feel shy about her body. But something felt sharper, different with this man.

The wound felt like an old scar, not a seeping gash where she had been stabbed through the heart. Looking up, she noticed him ripping into the other rabbit with gusto. 

He was perched on a rock between her and the fire and with the way the light reflected off his golden eyes, glowing hair, he looked downright predatory. His sharp white teeth seemed to glow as his tongue came out to lick drips of fat from his lips. She felt like she was witnessing something intimate and primal with a hunter as rare as the ones she had birthed. She looked away before she could be caught.

He had more than heard her question, he felt her eyes on him, could  _ smell  _ her curiosity in the air. The problem, it was more distracting than any scent he had ever encountered. 

“I said, how is it possible?” She was sitting up now, had that annoyingly regal and commanding look about her again, which only made her more attractive.

“Hmm.” Again with the obnoxiously obtuse grunting. He glanced at her briefly.

“I felt myself die. How did you heal me--resurrect me?” She gestured to her wound and the cave in general.

“Drogon crossed from your world into mine to save you.” He stopped and continued eating as if that explained everything.

She blinked. 

“He did what.” 

“He used dragon magic to portal you here. Used a good bit of it by how he is sleeping now.” Geralt looked up from the fire to gaze closely at Drogon’s sleeping face, his deep breathing.

Daenerys’ eyes widened, terrified that he had overextended himself, she shifted to clutch at Drogon’s body, moving to go to his face. Urgent feelings running down her bond with him, she could feel his energy, his life force as a continuous pulse, but one that didn’t really respond back to her.

As if sensing her discomfort Geralt’s words halted her.

“He’ll be fine, he just needs deep sleep and protection. If someone were to attack him now, he would be vulnerable in ways he normally is not. It’s best we remain here for a few days to allow him to do so.”

_ “Issa tresy, issa jorrāelagon _ . . .,” Her eyes teared up. 

Geralt finished eating and put more wood on the fire. He got up to tend to Roach who was munching on hay he had propped up for her nearby. All the while, Daenerys clung to Drogon’s body, breathing him in, sensing him, thanking the gods that at least he was alright, alive.

“You call him your son, why?” He was brushing Roach’s coat now.

Daenerys blinked back her tears of fear over Drogon and turned to watch him.  _ Had he understood her mother tongue after all? No, perhaps he is just even more perceptive than I realize. _

She observed him for a few minutes, he didn’t press her to answer, just continued brushing his horse. She decided that no harm could come from telling him the truth and realized she wanted to see how he would react compared to the others she had told over the years.

“I put three stone eggs on the funeral pyres of my late husband and stillborn son. I walked into the fire. When I emerged, unscathed from the flames, Drogon and his two brothers, Rhaegal and Viserion, were clutched onto me like new babes.” 

Geralt had stopped brushing Roach to watch her--his eyes widening ever slightly as he studied her.

“Mother of Dragons,” he said quietly and with pained reverence. He turned to gaze again at the still sleeping Drogon, sensing that if Drogon brought her here on her deathbed, nothing good had become of his two dragon brothers.

She waited and was surprised when he didn’t ask more. This man seemed so  _ underwhelmed _ and perceptive it was equal parts annoying and unnerving. She cleared her throat.

“Drogon bringing me here explains some of it, but it doesn’t explain my wound, I certainly have lost track of time, but surely it shouldn’t be this healed?”

Geralt sighed. 

_ This man is insufferable and he’s barely said anything at all! _

“Once I found you, I used a powerful Witcher’s potion to bring you back from the edge of the abyss.” 

“A potion? . . .A potion saved me.” She was smiling slightly now. 

He looked at the cave ceiling—open sky really that shimmered as the firelight bounced off the barely visible enchantment---presumably choosing to ignore her comment.

He looked back at her and shifted his jaw--making a face like he had bitten into a lemon.

“The potion shouldn’t have worked.” 

At her confused expression, he continued.

“It would only hasten a normal human’s death.” 

“You used a potion on me that might make my condition worse, that’s what saved me?” She asked with firmness.

“You had a dagger sticking out of your chest, there weren’t many options.”

She sighed, but despite her efforts, her smirk was coming back.

“Drogon brought you here, and I was allowed to heal you. The potion worked almost as well as it does for a Witcher. And, clearly, you are not a normal human . . .” He gestured at her, at her son.

She swallowed and broke eye contact.

“You say you’re not human. What constitutes a Witcher?” She asked pointedly. He resumed brushing his horse, letting her sharp question sit for a minute.

“I’m a mutant. We were created for one purpose, to hunt monsters.” 

“Monsters?” She looked confused.

“Kikimora, Striga, Ghouls, any that harm and plague humans--there are many in this world. Our credence is to protect humanity at all costs. Monsters to hunt monsters.”

She paused at his bitterness, unsure of what to say.

“Dragons?”

“I don’t hunt dragons. Not all monsters are a threat and most are only threats if provoked.” His eyes cut right to her, adding an extra meaning to his words. 

She nodded her head as he looked away. She would offer more of herself in response to sharing what seems painful to him.

“In my world, it was said I have the blood of the dragon, because of my immunity to fire and my family line. Many of my ancestors, most recently my father, were thought of as monsters. You might not be completely human, but I have seen and known true monsters--many in the form of humans, your actions have thus far proven to be anything but that.” If she hadn’t been watching him closely, she would have missed the tensing of his muscles, the shifting of his back at her words. He turned to look at her.

“What makes you so certain,” another rumble in his throat.

She blinked quickly.

“Despite what I said when I woke up, I sense no malice from you. I just . . . cannot allow myself to trust again so easily, especially because I was . . . betrayed . . . by someone so close to me.”

“Mmm . . . by my measure of things, whoever that was doesn’t even deserve to be Drogon’s next meal.”

Her heart ached as she thought of Jon. So the smile her face took on was tinged with pain, but it was at least a smile.

“And what sort of person does a Witcher allow close to him?” She redirected.

He paused in his actions as he gazed sardonically at the fire.

“Witchers are not supposed to have any feelings, so the sort who is alright with disappointment.” Her brow furrowed at his sublimation.  _ O he felt, but his walls might even be thicker than mine. _

A few more moments passed in silence as he draped a blanket over his horse to keep her warm. 

“ . . . So there are other dragons in this world?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm. One is helping to enchant this cave to protect us right now”--she was taken aback--”the very same dragon that helped your son to cross over without becoming lost between worlds.”

“Where is this dragon?” 

“Close by, but he never stays in one place for long. He’ll want to introduce himself soon, I’m sure.” He said out of the side of his mouth.

“You speak of him as though he were a man.” Geralt smirked at her.

“He takes the form of a man sometimes.” Her eyes widened. “It makes it easier for him to travel and conceal himself from others.”

“A dragon that takes the form of a man . . .would that I could take on a form like my son’s, it would have made things a bit easier in my world.” Daenerys wondered to herself.

“Hmm . . . or people would have hunted you more than they did; it would have made your rarity all the more apparent.” _Did I really just say that out loud?_ _Well done, Geralt._

She had seen a look like that in quite a few men’s eyes when they gazed at her, but coming from this other-worldly one, she couldn’t be sure it meant the same thing. Whatever it means, it shook her to her roots, like fingers crawling up her spine.

“You said you don’t hunt dragons, but there are others in this world who would?”

He was done with the task of tending to his horse now. And set about ensuring the fire would last a few more hours. With Drogon’s heat, they wouldn’t need much to stay warm. 

“Dragon’s are very rare here, but still, their body parts fetch heavy coin for those who would use them for dark magic. Your dragon even more so; he is more powerful and full of magic than any I have ever encountered.” 

Her brow furrowed as he walked over to Drogon’s mouth and put a hand over one nostril. He closed his eyes, like he was listening and feeling Drogon’s breathing, like a great dragon nurse. 

“His rest is deep, but he is recovering.” 

She couldn’t hide the amazement in her gaze at how comfortable, natural he was with her son. 

“And you know this?” 

He glanced back at her.

“Hmm. More a feeling really, my senses are more perceptive than most. But, not as much as a dragon’s.”

She studied her hands, that she was here in an entirely different world, alive, and there were dragons in this world no less---dragons and this  _ man-- a Witcher,  _ someone who seemed to have things to teach her about her own son.

“In my family, there are stories of how a Dragon bonds to his rider. I am bonded to my son and I can  _ feel  _ him, but I did not know why the bond felt subdued now until you just told me. It is because he is in this deep healing sleep?” Geralt swallowed deeply and cleared his throat, nodding as he did so.

“Mmm. . . You said a dragon and his rider?”

She smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.

“Yes, I would ride into battle on his back.”

He chuckled. Her eyes widened again at his reaction.

“What a sight that must be.” She couldn’t help the color in her cheeks.

He put his forehead to Drogon’s face, just as Daenerys herself often does. She huffed in amazement,  _ perceptive and no fear _ .

Silence for a few moments more as she closed her eyes, the sight of him with Drogon was almost too much to watch, it reminded her of what could have never been with another.

He couldn’t help himself, he had to ask.

“Are there other dragons in your world?” He had come closer again; how did he move so silently? He came to sit in the circle of Drogon’s rear legs again, closer to her, now that he seemed satisfied with his assessment of Drogon’s health and perhaps knew that his mother would no longer attempt to skewer him for his proximity.

“No. My sons---Drogon is the last of his kind. . .” she gulped down the surge of shattered memories that kept rising up as she tried to not remember her past. 

“He and his brothers were the first that had been born in my world in many many years.”

He watched her as he unsheathed his sword and brought forth a small whetstone.

“Will this enchantment be enough to protect him, while he recovers?” Her voice quavered. Drogon was all she had left now, all that mattered.

“Hmm. That and me.” More a growl than speech. Her eyes sparkled.

“Thank you.” He started and stared at her. “Thank you for healing me, and protecting my son.”

He swallowed and nodded and went back to his task, her words so genuinely heartfelt.

“Rest. The potion has done its work, but it takes the energy from your body to do so, you will be weak for a few days.”

Settled back against Drogon again, Daenerys closed her eyes. Mercifully, her sleep was dreamless.

***********

She woke to the sound of rumbling beneath her cheek.  _ It sounded like Drogon was irritated?  _ The bond with him pulsed warmly in her mind. She opened her eyes to see a very tired and belligerent Drogon half-heartedly attempting to bat Geralt away, eyes-closed, with his muzzle as Geralt persisted in throwing his body weight against Drogon’s face to wake him.

It looked to be late morning from the angle of the sun coming through the cave roof.

“I know you want to sleep, but you  _ need _ to eat, you stubborn dragon.”

_ Grumble Rumble _ , followed by another slow-motion head thrash.

Geralt sighed. He was without his chest piece or pauldrons, but seemed completely unaffected by the continuous, albeit slow thrashing Drogon was giving him. Daenerys froze as she saw the naked sculpted muscle of his chest peaking through his shirt, skin tanned and smattered with a light bit of hair. His hair was down, loose, and disheveled, and no longer pulled back partly as it was the night before.  _ He was beautiful, and clearly more resilient than a normal man, but still very much a man indeed. _ She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from either laughing or gawking openly. 

One more particularly hard shove and Drogon’s eyes opened blearily as he raised his head. Daenerys could feel the connection to her son pulse more actively as he answered back in happiness to feeling her well. She sent endless love and joy back down the connection. 

She gazed to the side and noticed two large stags on the ground in front of Drogon in addition to two more rabbits. Impressed beyond measure that Geralt was attempting to care for all of them on his own, Daenerys provided a bit of assistance as she sent a gentle demand that Drogon cooperate and eat his meal. Happy clicking was her response. 

Somehow, Geralt knew to interpret that noise as ‘talking to mommy’ and gazed in Daenerys’ direction; she smiled guiltily as he raised his eyebrow.

“I suppose I have you to thank for assisting with his cooperation?” Geralt deftly moved to the side as he somehow sensed Drogon lurching for the two stags and preparing to breathe fire on them  _ before _ he did so. Drogon gulped his now charred food as any good dragon does and blinked at Geralt.

“You’re welcome, Drogon.” Daenerys’ long suppressed chuckles finally surfaced. More clicking from her son as he readjusted and settled back down and went back to sleep. 

Shaking his head, Geralt moved to take care of the rabbits. Trying her strength on shaking legs, Daenerys stood up and made her way over to Geralt. Happy with her legs holding her and feeling more confident, she wanted to offer her help. As she got closer, Geralt finally got a true sense of how petitie she was. He was at least a full foot taller than her.

“Let me?” He eyed her in concern, clearly trying to assess if she was well enough (and perhaps competent enough) before nodding his head and removing a knife from a waist sheath to leave her to skin the rabbits. He moved on to picket his horse, which he appeared to have used this time to assist with retrieving his hunt.

He gazed over at her a few moments later to observe her effectively skinning and preparing the meat to cook.

“I’ve only known one other queen as skilled with a knife, but she would never lower herself to prepare food.”

“I’m not a queen,” Daenerys said with more ire than she intended.

“ . . .I lived on the streets for many years and my late husband’s people were nomadic, we often had to prepare meat from hunts.” She followed up with a more apologetic tone. 

He nodded his head, not wanting to pry more. 

“Why are you helping us? My wound has nearly healed and Drogon is getting stronger, once this other dragon can no longer keep us hidden, we could perhaps find our way . . .” She gazed at him in the dancing fire. The flickering orange glow made them both look other-worldly to one another, with shattered rays of sunlight alternating against their features adding contrast between the glowing light of day and the shadows that still clung to the cave like moss. They were somehow similar, closer than they had ever felt to another, at least on the surface, but yet very different.

He gazed back at her, his piercing yellow eyes reaching inside her.

“I have a fondness for those that others call monsters.”

************

It was the late afternoon as they had finished eating in companionable silence and were sitting by the fire for a few moments, that Geralt tensed and a second later Drogon growled lowly behind them.

“What is it?” Daenerys asked in concern.

“We have visitors.” Geralt reached for his sword.

“Friends?” Daenerys stood up and backed toward the protection of her son’s body. Drogon was stirring, but still seemed to have trouble waking up fully.

Geralt drew in a deep breath.

“Mmm. I recognize them.” His sword arm relaxed slightly But he still didn’t drop his sword. 

A few moments later, two magnificent female warriors entered the cave and nodded their heads at Geralt, they also seemed entirely unsurprised to see Drogon.

“Witcher, Borch has asked us to assist you and the Mother of Dragons to hasten your departure from this cave system. Borch’s magic has kept you hidden, but his strength is under pressure because a Nilfgaardian sorceress is attempting to penetrate the net.”

“Fuck.”

“I assume Nilfgaardians are very much not friends?” Daenerys asked with her chin raised. The two warriors turned to bow at her.

“Mother of Dragons, I am Téa and this is my sister, Véa.” The two women had glowing skin like the finest dark chocolate, beautiful long hair wound tight in braids meant for fighting, dark tattoos from the corners of their eyes down their necks, wicked sabres clung to their backs and clothing that reminded Daernerys a bit of the Dothraki. 

Geralt gestured at them. 

“They are Zerrikanian Warriors, there’s is a matriarchal society that worships dragons.” Geralt got up and started to methodically put his chest piece back on.

Daenerys’ eyes widened as she smiled at them.

“You must be companions of the dragon that has been helping us, Borch? You have my deepest gratitude.”

“It is not necessary, Mother of Dragons. We live to serve all true dragon blood.” Véa responded.

Daenerys’ eyes sparkled. It had been so long since anyone had offered her help without expecting anything in return and in just a few short days, she had encountered not one but 4 separate beings who were helping her and her son. She still didn’t think she deserved it, especially. . . after. She swallowed.

“How soon do we need to leave?” The warriors were unloading something from some sacks they had slung over their backs as Daenerys took a few steps toward them.

“First you must change. You will need armor after you leave this cave.” Tea said firmly.

“Armor?” Daenerys asked with raised brows as they presented her with a piece of plate expertly shaped for a woman’s upper body, thick leather thigh-high leather boots overlaid with some form of plate so lightweight, she had never seen its like in Westeros, and tight, lightweight leather riding pants for beneath the boots. All of which when put together would be far more form fitting than Daenerys had ever worn, but also better suited for her protection she supposed. They also provided her with what looked to be a cloak made of fur from a spotted leopard or other great cat to wear around her shoulders, but that would unfold to a fur cloak to about her lower-back to keep her warm. Her hair must be quite a sight and messy knot of braids given what she’d gone through, so she also hoped these two women would help to tighten her hair as well.

In the meantime, Geralt had finished donning his own armor in rapid time and cleared his throat.

“I’ll be just outside talking to Borch.” He decided to (somewhat awkwardly) make himself scarce as Téa started to help Daenerys undress without any preamble. Even Daenerys herself didn’t seem that overly concerned to be disrobed on the spot. Geralt was no blushing green boy, but he certainly wasn’t mentally prepared to see more of her pearly white skin beneath her mostly ruined dress.

**************

Once he was outside, it didn’t take him long to see Borch sitting in a grassy spot close to the edge of the cliff.

“How is she?” he asked without turning around.

Geralt snorted.

“She’s alive and functioning. I don’t know if I’d call her well yet, I can feel her anguish, her pain--even if she is trying fiercely to hide it. Whatever happened before she crossed over, it must have been terrible.”

Borch glanced at him as Geralt sat down beside him.

“You’ll know the cause in time, but you won’t like what you must do, and she won’t appreciate it. But you’ll know when the time comes.” Borch turned to look at him directly. “And you  _ must  _ do it when the time comes.” He turned back to look at the horizon.

Geralt’s brow raised as he grumbled.

“Your riddles are getting worse with age.”

Borch laughed loudly.

“And your jokes are still just as bad.” Geralt glanced at him with a smile and that was when he noticed the sweat starting to drip down Borch’s forehead, even with the cool breeze blowing on this early autumn day.

“ . . .It’s Fringilla isn’t it?” Borch nodded slightly.

“Do they know what it is you are hiding?”

“The Nilfgaardians only suspect. It makes sense, what would a dragon try so hard to protect but another dragon and a wounded one at that. It doesn’t help that I was protecting my last mate and egg in a cave not far from here a few weeks ago. Despite all the dark magic Nilfgaard and Fringilla may harness to increase their empire, I don’t think even they have any idea about the Black Dread Come Again or his mother.”

Geralt nodded. “Hmm. We can count that much as a blessing then.”

“I’ve heard rumors that Nilfgaard has a mimic assisting them as well. Be careful who might seem to be a friend or foe on the road.”

Geralt ground his teeth and spit, not a pleasant memory, his last encounter with that particular creature. 

“I have a finely tuned nose for a doppler-mimic, even when he’s turned into another person’s form, but I’ll be careful all the same.”

Borch snorted. 

“Ah, Geralt, you have made such a fine selection of acquaintances throughout your long years. Two of them in particular will be needed for your current quest.”

Geralt gazed skyward.

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know whom you may be speaking of. My bigger concern right now is how we will conceal the largest dragon I have ever seen and protect him from being hunted once he takes flight.” 

“I might be getting tired, but I’m not weak. I will provide some assistance with the weather while you are in my range for the next few days, but beyond that, you will have to help the Mother of Dragons and her son understand how to blend in. He has never had to learn how to cloak himself because he was not continuously hunted like so many of us are in this world. He has the capability, but lacks the practice.”

Geralt looked at him quizzically and was just about to ask Borch if he was insinuating dragon training when he turned at the sound of shifting gravel from the cave’s entrance.

Out emerged Téa and Véa, like a queenly entourage, and behind them followed Daenerys. Her braids had been straightened and corrected and swept properly off her face into a multi-layered twisted set of braids atop her head and merging into a single thick braid down her back. But that wasn’t what held Geralt’s eyes. It was the way the new plate-and-leather reinforced armor clunge to her like a second skin, accentuating the prominent curves of her petite body that had clearly been mostly hidden under that black dress. The armor looked made for her and she looked like a conquering, dragon-riding, Witcher’s-wet-dream.  _ He was so beyond fucked _ .

Daenerys nodded at him briefly before her eyes locked onto Borch as they both stood up to greet the women.

“You must be Borch. I don’t know how to ever repay you or properly thank you for helping my son---for helping me.” Borch took both of her hands in his.

“Think nothing of it, young one. You and your son both are a treasure to my old eyes and very much needed in both our worlds, you will realize it before it’s too late.” He squeezed her hands and then leaned in to kiss her forehead.

His words seemed cryptic to Daenerys and yet to be talking about something that had not yet come to pass; but they also cut right down to her heart. She swallowed.

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, all the same.” Borch smiled and nodded.

Geralt watched the exchange with interest. She seemed equal parts ferocious, beautiful, and innocently-kind. 

Borch grimaced. Téa and Véa were immediately at his side as Geralt tensed.

“They are stepping up their tactics a bit. More low-level mages are helping Fringilla to break my enchantment. Soon, they will be able to sense Drogon and determine exactly how much magic he contains.

Daenerys glanced between them.

“Will it be alright for Drogon to take flight now? Has he rested enough?”

Geralt closed his eyes like he was sensing.

“He will be better protected in flight than in this cave when Borch is overwhelmed. Fringilla alone is powerful enough to bring this cave down on top of us.”

Borch looked at Daenerys in comfort.

“We dragons are at our least vulnerable in flight.” Daenerys bit her tongue at the memory of how her other two sons were struck down in flight, without a rider. She didn’t like this at all.

“Drogon will be alright,  _ but _ , no matter what you encounter on the road for the next 24 hours, you must resist calling him to you and you cannot ride him. You cannot let him land until you have found somewhere safe for him to sleep. Do you understand, Mother of Dragons?”

She swallowed and nodded her head, accepting advice one more time.

“How shall I come to defend myself?” Borch just stared blankly at her, as did Téa and Véa. Geralt looked downright insulted.

She glanced at Geralt briefly. “You misunderstand me. I have gone into battle many times, but my weapon of choice has always been dragon fire, you have armored me, and I thank you, but what weapon am I to use without the assistance of my son.” She couldn’t help it, she was speaking through her teeth toward the end of her tirade. She turned again to look pointedly at Geralt, who stared back and said nothing. She was about ready to throttle him.

Borch raised his eyebrow and nodded at Téa and Véa. 

Téa stepped forward and touched Daenerys on the shoulder.

“Would that we could show you the Zerrikanian ways of the sword, but for now, take one of ours.” She unstrapped the sheath and blade of a shortsword she had at her hip and handed it to Daenerys. It was mildly curved into a saber shape like the much larger blades the two sisters bore on their backs.

“May it protect you and your son and bring you fortune, Dragon Queen,” Véa said, squeezing Daenerys’ other shoulder. 

With that, Borch took four large steps back, crouched down on his knees and his body started to shimmer. Geralt grunted.

“Show-off.” 

The shimmering grew and a blinding light exploded out of Borch’s body, until, in the man’s place stood an enormous golden dragon. Distracted from her irritation with Geralt by obtaining a weapon for now, Daenerys admired Borch’s true form. But, his head and wings were shaped more like a bird’s and less fearsome looking than Drogon’s. He was definitely a dragon, but just, different.

Borch laughed, but his mouth didn’t move, almost like he was conjuring his speech upon the air to them through magic.

“Do not worry in your judgement, Mother of Dragons. My form is quite different from your son’s because my blood has been diluted from his. We are all descendents of his blood-line, when the first dragon of Westeros crossed the barrier to our world centuries ago.”

“You are magnificent in your own right, Borch. I have never thought such a beautiful golden color was possible in any form of life.” Borch preened proudly. She had much she wanted to ask him about dragons and their history here, about what he knew about her family line, if anything.

He turned his large head to look at Geralt. 

“I can buy you four hours to get clear of the cave, head west, my friend in the village will help you conceal him.”

Geralt nodded.

“Good luck, my friend, and blessings to you both, Mother of Dragons.” Borch launched off the edge of the cliff as mist seemed to appear out of nowhere. Téa and Véa nodded at them both and dove off after him with whooping war cries, swords drawn.

Daenerys started, amazed at the two women and then looked about in wonder as the mist continued to fill the air around them, creating cover for their escape.

Without waiting, Daenerys took off into the cave. Geralt was forced to follow her, smirk on his face.

“Come, help me rouse my son,” she said over her shoulder

Daenerys had already started sending urgency down the bond with Drogon before they finished running inside. She could feel him waking up, he seemed more aware, stronger.  _ Thank the Gods,. _

Once they were before him and Roach in the cave, Drogon was up on his feet, growling and grumbling. The shimmer in the enchantment above was flickering.

“Borch’s enchantment is wavering, and Drogon can no doubt sense the dark magic trying to read his presence.” Geralt said as he hurriedly tightened the last of the straps on Roach.

Daenerys looked up at the cave’s ceiling worriedly as she made her way over to Drogon to press her forehead to his and whisper love to him.

“You promise me he will be better off in flight alone, without me astride him.” She turned to look at Geralt fiercely as she tossed him her new weapon; without a sword belt, she wouldn’t be able to keep it on her while mounted. 

Geralt was quickly scattering the evidence of their presence and adding Daenerys’ new sword to the weapons already present in the saddlebags. They’d have to get her a sword belt so she could carry it properly.

“Yes. I swear it. You will be safer as well, I cannot communicate with you if you are astride him, either. . .,” she stepped toward him aggressively.

“IF you have any doubt about that promise, you will tell me now.” He paused for a breath, looking into the protectiveness, the fierceness in her eyes. Lightning-charged purple met glowing yellow.

“I have no doubts. I trust Borch’s words as though they are prophecies.” Daenerys set her jaw and nodded. Geralt prodded her as she turned back once more to touch Drogon.

“Do you feel strong enough to direct him mentally?” She gazed back, daggers in her eyes.

“Yes. I’m fine,” An answer to more than one question.

“Alright, then you and I will ride together on Roach.” He quickly mounted up as she nuzzled Drogon once more before she mentally urged him to take flight. With one leaping pounce he was airborne and through the cave ceiling and into the air. He seemed to sense the need for silence as he made no announcing roar upon his flight. She could feel him holding in a hover above them in the cloud bank.

“ _ Sōvēs, Issa tresy.”  _ Daenerys said quietly in a voice that shook from fear--one she concealed from Drogon. She hadn't parted from him since before . . .

“You do know how to ride?” She turned to glare at Geralt. He was gesturing that she mount up in front of him in the saddle.

“Perhaps I should ask you the same? I ride my Drogon and was the Khaleesi of the Dothraki of the Great Grass Sea--a fearsome horse tribe,--I think I would be a better judge of a good rider,” She said as she ignored his offered hand to help her mount up and swung herself up with her own leg strength and momentum, without using the saddle or stirrups at all. 

The curve of her back wedged itself perfectly against his leather-clad chest as she seated herself atop Roach; the smack of the back-piece of her plate and its leather tightening straps adding a nice punch to her sentiments right into Geralt’s lower chest and stomach. Her leather clad ass also fit itself snugly against his own leathers and he had to bite his tongue as his eyes rolled back at the contact of her body against him. 

She got a grunt from him for her trouble. 

Geralt ticked his head in acknowledgement.

“Not bad,” he said in an understated growling tone at her ear that sent shivers down both their spines as they took off at a fast trot through the cave.

**********

As they cleared the opening of the cave, Daenerys jolted as she heard the sound of rocks falling behind them as the enchantment flickered and went out, and the cave collapsed in on itself.

“That was Borch’s doing, he’s trying to keep them from getting scent of us by entering the cave.” Geralt spoke over the sound of Roach’s hooves on the terrain, he had both reins in hand as she gently gripped Roach’s neck, using the strength of her legs to keep her astride.

They started to turn into a gallop as they made their way down the rocky and narrow path on the mountain. Her legs clenching onto Roach as they leaned in together, in sync on his back. It felt natural, riding with Geralt like this. Daenerys grew to respect Geralt’s riding abilities after all, as a horse does not gallop on such dangerous terrain without complete trust in his rider; but even more so, she was distracted by the feel of his sizable body behind her, the clenching of his biceps and forearms through his leathers as they took the turns, the feeling of his upper thighs flexing next to hers. It was a wonder to her that she didn’t want to skewer any man that got this close to her, considering recent events. But, whether Geralt had proven himself worthy, or he was just in a category all his own, Daenerys wasn’t ready to ponder too deeply. 

For now, she was overwhelmed by her feelings in the here and now. She felt almost free, wild. The spice of him in her nose:  _ masculine and dark. _ Her proximity was having a similar effect on him, unless she was mistaken about the anatomy of Witchers. 

He was also impressed by her ability in the saddle and the obvious strength of her legs as she was using them to keep herself straight; she was a natural and would ride cleanly bareback . . .Geralt tried to stifle the image that conjured, especially with the smell of her hair and skin right in front of his nose:  _ crushed roses, burning heat, electricity. _

The lower they got on the mountain side, she could make out the tops of trees through the foggy mist. She could still sense Drogon flying slightly above them through her bond in the thick mist, following them closely and in complete sync with her feelings. She felt closer to him than ever, like her near death had somehow wound the bond to her son thicker, tighter. She could pick out more from his senses as well now, his hunger, his sense of smell, just little flashes here and there. As she was contemplating her connection, she felt the earth shake and Roach whinnied. They had reached the base of one of the peaks and were cutting through a small alpine outcropping of trees. The ground shook again.

“What is that?” Daenerys asked. Geralt cut the reins hard to the left. 

“Catapults. Apparently, the Nilfgaardians don’t have anything better to do..”

“Will he be alright?” Daenerys asked and shifted like she wanted to turn and fight.

“We KEEP riding.” Geralt said with a growl. He too wanted to turn and fight, but he didn’t want to make Borch’s choice to provide a diversion be in vain.

Daenerys nodded. “I’m sorry.” Geralt ground his teeth, thankful at the least that she understood so easily and repositioned as they picked up speed. 

**********

The sun was rapidly setting and before long, they were riding in a thick forest and could no longer see the mountains--or feeling the jarring rumble from the catapults. Roach’s mouth was foaming from the hard ride, so they pulled up to stop at a stream in the deep woods and dismounted.

Geralt picketed Roach to a nearby branch as he let her drink and pulled out a water skin of his own, took a swig and handed it to Daenerys.

She took two pulls of her own without hesitation. He started to see the warrior in her far more now that they were on the run: the dirt on her skin; wild tendrils had come loose from her braid; the way her armor clung to her like a second skin. He broke his gaze before she noticed and turned back to Roach.

Daenerys could feel Drogon’s urge to land and be close to her and his growing hunger. He was thankfully keeping the tiredness at bay for now. She urged him to stay airborne. She sensed his frustration, but he agreed to her wishes, for now.

“How much further to the village Borch mentioned?”

Geralt looked up from where he was tightening down a few buckles that had shifted during their hard ride.

“Another three hours if we ride at a slower pace, which Roach needs given how tired she is from carrying us both at that pace earlier.”

Daenerys came over and reached her hand out to Roach’s face, who immediately took to whinnying tiredly, but happily. 

“ _ Kirimvose syt bearing īlva _ .” Daenerys murmured to Roach as she rubbed her face. Roach gently and calmly nuzzled her. Geralt stepped closer to her, pleased that Roach approved of her so obviously.

“Kirimvose . . .thank you?” Geralt asked as he observed her. He was standing less than a foot from her now. He could see the glow of sweat on her brow from their ride. He was sure she could see the same on his.

“Yes, in my mother tongue, Valyrian.” 

“Your voice changes when you use it, like the veil lifts . . .” His eyes studied hers. 

She stared back, entranced.

“Is that why you didn’t offer me one of the many weapons you have before we left?” Besides the massive sword on his back and the multiple knives scattered throughout his body, he carried one other long sword on Roach, plus two shorswords. But, all of them were Witcher’s blades, enchanted with runes, magic, or used for specific monsters. Now, the sword Daenerys’ was gifted was added to the pile Roach had to haul.

He grunted in irritation and the spell between their eyes turned to challenge. Neither of them looked away or backed up.

“I didn’t give you one of my blades because you aren’t ready.” He said on a growl, leaning in to her a bit.

Daenerys Targaryen was never one to be cowed by anyone attempting to intimidate her, especially in this fashion.

“I’m not ready for what? Death? Battle? Bloodshed? Terrifying monsters destroying all life before my eyes? Perhaps being sold as a broodmare and raped, or having the man you love stab you in your heart, could that be what you mean?” Daenerys’ Chin lifted and voice promising retribution like a blazing inferno, she stared him down. If Geralt wasn’t so irritated, he would be incredibly turned on; if he were a lesser man, he would be cowering.

Geralt’s eyes took on a sparkle of excitement for a moment before they settled back to hardness.

“No. Because I can still see the hesitation in your eyes, the darkness. Because you aren’t sure if you really  _ want _ to. be. alive.” His voice went down to a deep growl as he leaned closer still.

This time it was her eyes that sparkled dangerously. “Perhaps the same can be said about you?” He flinched back.  _ Well played, Dragon Queen.  _

She shoulder checked him as she stomped away from him. (Interestingly, she put him off balance with her shoulder bump, which she shouldn’t have been able to do given his Witcher strength--something for him to ponder later). 

He had unraveled her as quickly as a ball of twine and she wasn’t prepared for how raw it made her feel or how  _ angry _ . But she had gotten him back just as effectively--right down to his quick.

“Don’t wander far on your own.” He called after her.

“I have to relieve myself; I’ll be back  _ Sir Witcher _ .” She called back in spite. He ground his teeth.

She walked for at least ten minutes in her rage, well out of his earshot and leaned against a nearby tree and sat down. She sent a quick checking pulse to Drogon, who was still waiting anxiously in the sky for them to move on. She sighed. She didn’t really have to pee, but she might as well attempt it anyway before getting back on Roach for several more hours. 

Just as she stood up and was preparing to unlace her leathers, she heard the snapping of twigs and sticks in the underbrush, just before she was grabbed from behind and a hand was placed over her mouth.

“What ‘ave we ‘ere. The Witcher’s whore?” She felt fear course through her at the rancid smell of the man who had her and the seven others who stepped out of the woods beside him, circling her. She tamped down on her feelings, not wanting them to push through her bond with Drogon. She had no doubt she might win against two men, but seven, especially these seven who appeared to be wearing a strange, rippling, all black armor, she didn’t have a chance. She also wouldn’t dare putting Drogon at risk for herself. He could be killed . . .because of her stupidity. She just had to wait and hope for an opportunity.

********

He knew he had hurt her with what he said and he certainly deserved her comeback--despite how right she might be; so, he thought it was only fair to give her a few moments by herself, but he did get a little concerned when she stepped out of the range of his heightened senses, everything was shortened because of the dense tree cover, so he couldn’t sense for quite as long a distance as he was used to. He ground his teeth and looked at Roach who tossed her head at him.

He grimaced. “I know, I went too far with what I said.”

She tossed her head again. “I  _ won’t apologize _ she doesn’t understand the Witcher creed and besides, her reply was more than---”

Roach tossed her head more urgently, then Geralt could smell it, a hint of acrid burning, old flesh, sweat, like men wearing black magic enhanced armor.

“FUCK.” He drew his sword and went into a crouching hyper fast and silent jog in the direction Daenerys had disappeared. 

********

The one that had her, predictably, thrust his pelvis against her backside. It was almost boring, she wished they would get on with whatever their disgusting designs were so she could kill or be killed. He reached around and started to continue the job of unlacing her leathers for her. She felt the tremors from prior experience of rape start to run through her. She kept her breathing even to prevent panic from rising.  _ NO. not this time. Stay calm, wait for your chance and kill him! _

“We’ll take turns, eh? I don’t think it’ll make any difference in finding the prize right--let’s have fun first?” He laughed maniacally. Two of the seven others joined in the laughter. Three stood silently, hands on their weapons, watching the woods around them like they waited for something.

The last one seemed to disagree completely, but not out of morality, no, just to protect his own selfish hide : “I heard the upper ranks talking, they say the Witcher in that cave was Geralt of Rivia. If this is his woman---” Nasty-thrusty-creep behind her laughed at chickenshit. 

“You honestly believe all those stories they tell about that old man?! That he’s the fastest fighter who ever lived?! That he took out a mob of 50 with no armor and one sword!? Please, if that’s true, I’ll let him fuck  _ me  _ after I’m done with his whore.”

Suddenly a blur appeared next to Daenerys and the creep that had her on their left.

“Sorry, you aren’t my type.” A deep, dark promise before Geralt’s sword went clean through thrusty-creep’s chest, less than three inches from Daenerys’ shoulder, splattering blood and gore all over her neck and face. 

As the creep was falling, Daenerys managed to unsheath a dagger he had at his hip and hold it ready. 

Geralt withdrew the sword from creep’s body and with a spinning move at a speed Daenerys had never seen from any warrior she had ever known, he countered and decapitated in one swipe the two that laughed with the creep and had just tried to gain advantage on Geralt from behind. 

Two others realized their comrades were now dead and attempted to rush at Geralt, right as he swung his free hand behind him, pushing Daenerys back with super-human strength so she was out of the immediate fighting area. She stumbled and landed on her ass, but kept the dagger steady in her hand. She watched as Geralt used the same hand he had pushed her with and made the shape of a right-side-up-triangle with a line in at the midway point and thrust it at the three attempting to rush him. A powerful gust of wind came out of Geralt’s hand and knocked the two rushing him back.  _ Magic? _

As those two fell, distracted, Geralt, legs and back bending in a way that made her rethink his bulk as being limiting, redirected his blade back and to the left to bisect the chickenshit who was trying to run away.

Geralt stood, swung his blade in an artful circle--splattering blood in its wake--and cracked his neck as the two he had knocked over shook their heads and reconsidered their tactic in approaching him. They paused--fear on their faces. Geralt smirked darkly at them.

_ There were seven, where is the other shifty-eyed one? _ Daenerys thought as she stood up, dagger in hand.

Geralt was taking his time with these two, toying with them vindictively, something he didn’t usually do. He had just decapitated one and was just running the other through his neck and killing him when number seven took his advantage and came out of the woods silently behind Geralt.

Before he could make contact with Geralt, Daenerys had rushed at him from the side and shoved her dagger into his neck. Geralt whipped around to witness all of it. He had heard his approach, but chosen to ignore it. But, he also didn’t anticipate Daenerys trying to protect him. Bloodspattered and sweaty they both stared at each other, breathing hard, the bodies strewn around them in a red arc.

He looked at the man she had killed, a dagger sticking out of his neck. 

“I suppose we  _ should  _ make sure you have a blade on you.” His smirk died as he eyed the disheveled laces on her leathers and growled. His pupils dilated.

“Which one.” He gestured at the corpses. He was practically vibrating with rage.

“They didn’t,” she soothed in tones close to those she uses to soothe an enraged Drogon.

He continued to vibrate as his muscles jumped in rage, but his eyes closed briefly at her tone; she stepped well into his personal space, close enough that his glowing yellow eyes nearly filled her vision and her purple eyes shattered-through with blue engulfed his.

“I’m alright,” barely a whisper. He breathed her in.

“You got to me in time.” their faces were close enough they were nearly touching. 

He exhaled as he closed his eyes. She studied him. Her hand twitched. His hands unclenched.

“We should get back to Roach.” She said at the same time that they both stepped back.

“Mmmm,” a growl full of meaning as he turned and went to the man she killed, yanking out the dagger, handing it to her by the blade. A million things passing unsaid between them as their eyes met and she tightened the laces on her leathers and took the blade from him. They nodded at one another, an unsaid bound winding tighter.

“A scouting party? Or stragglers not following their command?” She gestured once more to the bodies as they started the jog back to Roach. Daenerys eyed the corpses with no regrets as they passed--except for her own stupidity for wandering off. She was  _ not  _ in Westeros anymore.

“Best not to stick around and find out, but likely deserters.” Daenerys nodded, lost in thought.

They walked back briskly to where they left Roach and thankfully, she was fine. But, they mounted up fast.

“I’m impressed you kept your Drogon from landing and setting everything ablaze.” Geralt said as he offered her a hand to help her mount up.

This time, she took the offered help as she mounted Roach.

“I couldn’t bear it if another being who is important to me was hurt on my account. My life is not worth his.”

Geralt shifted his jaw, about to respond, when she cut him off.

“Drogon is getting hungry and tired, it is taking willpower to keep him at bay. So, we best push on.”

“Mmmm.” A grunt and Geralt kicked Roach to a gallop as Daenerys sent the message of their passage again to her son.

********

It was as dusk was just leaving the last streaks of purple along the horizon when they entered the small village that Borch had directed them to. Daenerys looked around, studying the common folk she saw about, many were gathered outside what appeared to be a tavern and as they approached the town center; she could only see the blacksmith was still working, all the other shops appeared to be closed up. The few that noticed them eyed them uncomfortably, no doubt the blood and gore was not helping.

“Borch’s friend is at the other end of town. . .How’s he holding up?” Geralt looked over his shoulder and gestured with his chin up to the sky. 

The mist was still providing cover in the high sky for Drogon, but as it started to fade, it looked more and more unnatural. The townspeople seemed oblivious, thankfully.

Daenerys grit her teeth. “He’s . . .impatient,” a half smile punctuated her statement.

“Don’t know that I can blame him. I could use a good meal and I haven’t been aloft this whole time.”

They continued at a slow canter on Roach through the town. No need to dismount when they were going straight to the old woman’s home.

“Witcher!!” Geralt tensed in his saddle. Some muttering was heard as a group of three men approached them. Daenerys raised her brow quizzically.

“It  _ is  _ him.” One of the three said to another once they were nearly alongside Geralt and Daenerys atop Roach.

“Witcher! Did you find the beast?! Come to collect your coin for its head?” Geralt remembered this one, he was the most irritating of the idiot trio he bumped into in the woods a few days back. 

Geralt stared back blankly without responding.

“Might we share in your spoils kind Witcher? A dragon head must be worth a fortune.” Daenerys snorted.

“A dragon head? Really?” She asked with fake interest.

The three looked shocked as they apparently just noticed she was there.

“What a beauty you have, Witcher! Why my, lady, you are nearly as covered in gore as our Witcher here. Surely, it is beneath you to suffer in such a fashion?”

Daenerys snorted.

Surely she is also far too beautiful a reward for someone like you who wouldn’t know how to enjoy it.” Geralt growled, but Daenerys beat him to responding.

“I am neither a reward nor trophy to be garnered, won, or shared, nor am I afraid of the results of death and battle. And even if I were, I am certain none of you are sufficiently equipped to help me in any way” He eyes glowed with ferocity, that shut them up. 

Geralt laughed out loud at her comeback and his eyes glittered with malice.

“How do you fools know she isn’t a dragon in human form.” That turned their silence into a terrified one. Daenerys chuckled as they continued past them on Roach.

As they got closer to the blacksmith, Daenerys caught the foul look he gave Geralt. A moderately sized group came out of the tavern behind them as they continued past the blacksmith, a group of ten or so by the sounds of it. 

“Butcher of Blaviken! We don’t like your kind around here!” A call came up from the crowd, followed by squish as what looked like a tomato bounced off the back of Geralt.

“Begone, monster!” Booing noises ushered from the crowd in camaraderie. Daenerys turned to eye the group behind Geralt. He made no motion to stop her or interject.

“Butcher!”

“Fiend!”

“Mutant!” Several cacophonous calls now, but they were all too terrified to approach.  _ Cowards. _ Geralt just acted like nothing was happening. Daenerys would think he was completely oblivious if she couldn’t feel the tensing of him behind her, the jumping in his thighs.

They continued at the same pace as they slowly rounded a bend in the road and the group was out of earshot. She could feel the tenseness in Geralt lessen marginally.

“Does that happen often?” Daenerys asked after the buildings started to thin out and the torch fires lessened so it felt more isolated. 

“Mmmmm.” A growl was all she got in response.

With the silence all she could hear now that the crowd was gone were the chirping of crickets and the sound of the clop-clop of Roaches feet as they meandered to what looked to be a disheveled hovel. Drogon was practically vibrating with hunger and exhaustion across her bond with him.

Geralt halted and dismounted. 

“Here it is.” It looked abandoned. Not even goats in the pen this time, Geralt noted. Daenerys dismounted and looked around in uncertainty.

They approached the half-collapsed gate, Geralt had Roach’s reins in his hand, pulling her behind him. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the gate, the hovel and run-down field transformed.

Before them stood a modest two-story farmhouse with light in the windows, smoke coming from the chimney, a barn stocked with hay, a field full of goats, and a larger green pasture behind it. 

Daenerys gasped.

“Is this what dragons in this world are capable of?” They gazed around in wonder.

“Not all of us my dear,” an old and scratchy female voice responded. A hunched over but kindly-looking old lady emerged from the barn. Daenerys smiled in wonder.

“Nice to see you again, Witcher. Found the dragon and his mother in record time, I see.” She smiled knowingly. 

Geralt nodded.

“Your son must be exhausted, my dear. Please, tell him to land in the field over there, he will be hidden and protected so that he may rest. Those goats are welcome to him for a meal as well. 

“Thank you for your help.” Daenerys eyed Geralt just to make sure this was the right place, he made eye contact with her and nodded his head.

Daenerys closed her eyes as she called to her son, relieved to finally tell him he could rest. 

Drogon came barrelling out of the sky in a magnificently fast descent as he swooshed once over the farm and came to land with a grumble on the grassy field. Daenerys could still feel the excitement and simple joy surge through her at watching him fly. Geralt and the old woman also turned to observe him as he landed. Little tufts of fire came from Drogon’s nose in pent up frustration. Daenerys looked at him in sympathy.

“He really is magnificent, the Black Dread Come Again.” The old woman nodded her head in pleasure.

“Hmm. He seems hungry too.” Geralt mentioned. Daenerys was already walking to Drogon.

“I must go to my son and sooth him, say goodnight to him.” She turned to look back at Geralt and the old woman before she continued. 

“Of course. Tend to your son. Just come straight into the house when you are done, there’ll be food waiting for you.” Daenerys took off briskly to the field to Drogon.

“Witcher, your horse will be happy and protected from hungry dragons in the barn.” Geralt chuckled. 

“Thank you for your help. Any word from Borch?” Geralt couldn’t help his concern.

The old woman laughed. “He’s outsmarted those silly Nilfs for so many years, he has gone and done it again, don’t worry. He has led them on a merry chase through the barren foothills to the east of the mountain range. They’ll be busy for a moon, at least.”

“He has bought us a wealth of time.” Geralt looked at the sky and made his way to the barn. The old woman followed and helped him get Roach settled into a stall with water, hay and oats. From inside the barn, they heard the rumble of Drogon and the expression of his dragon’s fire as he ate the goats. They went about their tasks together in quiet peace like a dragon rumbling and breathing fire within earshot was a perfectly normal occurrence. Even though he had only encountered the old woman one other time, Geralt felt strangely at ease with her.  _ Must be something about me and dragons. _

He was nearly done with brushing Roach when the old woman turned to him, her eyes glowing with an alien green tint.

“I must warn you, the enchantment Borch placed on the cave was also protecting the dark memories from surfacing for the Mother of Dragons. Tonight will be a difficult night for her, without the enchantment. Do what you must.The home is yours for the next 24 hours.” 

Geralt had only half turned around when the old woman was speaking but he turned around completely with the ominous suggestion of that last statement. As he looked into her eyes, he felt momentarily distracted, like he was slipping into a spell. He shook his head to clear it and by then, the old woman was gone.

“Fuck. . . damn dragons and their magic.” Geralt grumbled. Theirs was some of the only magic he was susceptible to, even with his witcher’s abilities. 

He made his way back to the house. Daenerys appeared to already be inside. He could see Drogon in the distant field, settled and asleep, charred bones from his dinner nearby. He shook his head and smirked as he entered the house. A cozy kitchen and sitting area were well-heated by a large and roaring fire in the fireplace. A staircase led upstairs to a lofted bedroom space.

Geralt found Daenerys sitting at the table, eating what looked to be a hearty stew and bread. She looked up from her meal as Geralt entered while he set some of his bags by the door.

“Where is our hostess?” She said mid chew. 

“Vanished, the house is ours for the next 24 hours, apparently, which means, the magic will only hold for that long.”

“Vanished?” Geralt snorted.

“From the few dragons I’ve known personally, they all have a flair for the dramatic.”

Daenerys snorted and went back to eating, shrugging her shoulders.

“I can’t say that magic happened in my world in this way, but I figure if I’m the Mother of Dragons. . .”

“You accept a certain amount of . . .?”

“Special.” She smiled at him as their eyes met when he sat down with a bowl of his own.

“Drogon settle in fine?”

“Yes, he is exhausted. I’ve never seen him so tired. I worried one night won’t rejuvenate him enough. Will he really be safe here?” 

“Hmmm. The magic here is more powerful than any I’ve encountered, save Borch’s. Besides, it’s our best option for now.”

She nodded.

They continued their meal in silence for the most part.

A yawn broke across Daenerys’ face.

“You should turn in, I’m going to keep watch for a while, just to make sure nothing seems amiss.”

“Thank you, again, Geralt . . .we wouldn’t have---”

He cut her off. “Think nothing of it.” He said dismissively as he got up to head to the door.

Daenerys had two revelations as she mounted the stairs to the second level of the farmhouse. There were two steaming full-size tubs filled with hot water and an array of soaps and oils and linens for drying. More importantly, there was only one bed.  _ Flair for the dramatic indeed. _

Too confident, too experienced, too world weary, and just too damn tired--Daenerys disrobed in the open loft that was the second floor and stepped into the tub closer to bed. Once she settled and had soaped her body, she set about the long process of removing the complicated braids from her hair. Finally loose, she finger-combed it and dunked her head underwater. She surfaced to meet a pair of predator yellow eyes looking at her as Geralt mounted the stairs.

He averted his gaze.

“I’ll leave to give you time.”

“No!” She called out as he turned. “Please, there are two baths, use the water while it’s still hot.” He turned and met her eyes, with a spark in his own and nodded. He too seemed to care too little to try to hide himself and moved over to the second tub and began removing his armor right in front of her. The only form of modesty he took was to turn his back to her.

She felt she should avert her eyes, but she just couldn’t. He could hear her pulse spike slightly as his chest piece and pauldrons came off, then his linen undershirt, exposing the muscles of his back to her perusal--and his many scars.

He was built like a warrior, with flexible muscle piled on flexible muscle; warriors she had seen before, but there was something about his body that just glowed and seemed  _ more.  _ Her stomach tightened at the sight of him.

Next he removed his boots, his ass flexing as he stood on one foot to do so, then the other. Both his flexibility and balance were impressive. Without preamble, he unlaced his leathers and shoved them down. Her eyes were greeted with a glorious ass, curved with definition and muscle. Daenerys bit her tongue so hard she drew blood.

Geralt couldn’t just hear her pulse now, he could smell the sweetness quickening her scent. This was a game he was familiar with, many women were drawn to him--the forbiddenness of him--the imagined darkness, but something felt primal with smelling her arousal and Geralt felt his hands shaking and his body twitching as he stepped sideways into the tub without turning toward her--like a green boy.

Once he was settled in the water, he slid back so he was parallel to her and caught her gaze. Unable to tear her eyes away, she gazed back. They contemplated one another in silence for a few moments. It was as though some powerful magnetic force was trying to snap them together and they were both powerless to stop it. Geralt dunked his head under water to break the spell and Daenerys tore her eyes away and did the same, rinsing her hair once more. 

She was more than capable of admitting that, logic be damned and despite all that she had been through, she was attracted to this Witcher after only knowing him for a few days. She could also admit that she wasn’t opposed to having him between her thighs--in theory at least. She was fairly certain he felt the same--though he was harder to read than most. But her memories nagged at her, and pulled her to the bed for sleep, like some part of her brain was trying to rebalance itself. 

As Geralt resurfaced, Daenerys gazed at him. 

“I’m quite tired, I’m going to dry off and get to bed.”

She might not be a Queen in name any longer, but her body shone like a goddess as she rose from the water, without giving him much of a chance to avert his eyes. But, he did all the same, although not before he got an eyeful of perfect milky skin, and breasts he wanted to bury his hands in. He cock pulsed beneath the water’s surface. 

“I’ll sleep downstairs. Give you privacy.” He voice was reverberating with its deepness, down to her most inner parts. 

“You are quite tall, but the bed is large enough for both of us.” She turned to look at him, suggestion in her eyes. He swallowed.

“Hmm. As you command,” said with grit and gravel. 

He turned slightly in the tub to give her more privacy as he finished removing the gore from his body. When he got out and made his way over to the bed, her found her laying beneath the cover, fast asleep, still in her linen robe from the bath. He chuckled.

“Sleep while you can, little one.” He said quietly as he made his way over to the opposite side of the bed and climbed in.

*****

_ Everywhere, everything was on fire. Children screaming, women with their skin burned off. Charred bones littered the ground and her, atop Drogon, commanding him to burn, burn, burn!  _

_ “No, this isn’t me! I wouldn’t do this! Never children! NEVER!” She screamed at herself, but her words fell flat, like she was floating above herself, watching from above. _

_ Drogon’s eyes were dull, like he was lost, not really there. Someone else’s dragon. Not hers, not her Drogon. Even he wouldn’t do this, not at her command. Never. Never. _

_ Then his eyes were blue, like Viserion’s. Like the others. Like the dead. _

_ Then she saw Jon. _

_ “Why Dany? Little Children? Why?” _

_ She screamed and cried back at him.  _

_ “WHY. I wouldn’t do this! You know me!” _

_ But she could feel it, see it. She had done it. _

_ She had. Her commands, her hands, her dragon.  _

_ She clawed at her head. Her psyche shattered as she tried to comprehend how she could do something so heinous, something that violated who she was to her very core. _

_ “Was I always this way? My father? Why! WHY!” She screamed. She felt Jon’s dagger plunge into her again and again. Over and over. _

_ “Yes. Kill me. I don’t deserve to live. Kill me. I must die. I cannot live.” _

_ **** _

She opened her eyes, unable to breath as she sobbed and screamed even in the waking world, but also in confusion and anger.  _ Why am I alive?! _

Geralt woke at her first sounds of distress and began to actively try to rouse her from the dream once she started screaming. But the nightmare had her in its grips, like a curse, like magic. He held her and shook her gently. This was more than a dream, he could  _ feel it _ .

“Daenerys. . .” Her wild eyes met his.

“I. Should. Be. DEAD.” She said through her teeth. Bitterness made the purple in her eyes look like a sky before a lighting strike--tinged with grey and silver. 

“I disagree.” He said matter-of-factly as he gazed at her and clutched her arms, trying to keep her still. Her wild eyes said she wasn’t really there. Their near nudity and proximity in the large bed an afterthought for the moment as Daenerys sobbed and screamed. 

“KILL ME! Why did you let me live?” She clawed at his arms as he held her, struggling to get free, kicking against him with all her strength. He pressed her into the mattress.  _ Only one way to stop this. _

Geralt’s pupils glowed in the dimness of the room as he studied her. He could just make out the foreign scent coming from her, like an afterthought or a glimmer. He growled.

Her own eyes cleared a bit as she recognized him.  _ His voice, his eyes, she clung to it like a lifeline _ . She felt lost, confused, but was out of the dream at last.

“Geralt. . .?”

“Shh, you’re alright now.”

“What. . .?”

Geralt’s brows pinched down as he looked at her--perhaps in pain? Or in concentration? She saw a deep pain, a knowing, in his own eyes that was gone too quickly to be sure.

“Look at my eyes.” He said with a growl. She stared at him and it felt like someone was choking her, she couldn’t breath.

Geralt let out a deep sigh, then took a big breath in. 

“Whatever you do, don’t look away.” He demanded. He had to catch it before her dream trickled back into her subconscious.

His pupils dilated as he looked at her emotion filled eyes. Growing bigger than should be possible for an ordinary human--not that his cat-like eyes were the least bit human. It looked like he was trying to reach inside her mind, her soul. She saw him make the inverted sign of a triangle with his right hand.

“What are you doing?” 

Her eyebrows furrowed as she watched him gaze at her. She felt an invisible wave of  _ him  _ hit her. The smell of him overwhelmed her senses.  _ Sweat. Leather. A dark Spice that tingled the nose. A musk of a great hearth waiting to be lit. Wood ready to burn. Charred stone. Coiled strength and hidden power _ .  _ A child calling for his mother. She left? Pain, loneliness, trials, fighting, endless fighting, so many years!  _ She relaxed into the feeling and simultaneously felt herself get warm and ready for him. Calm, everywhere she felt calm. Like Geralt was with her, resetting her, pushing away the madness. 

His muscles flexed as he gazed at her like he was unprepared for what he found, for the deepness and strength of the connection. It wasn’t supposed to work both ways. But he could feel her in  _ his  _ head:  _ a house with a red door, a lemon tree, running, starving, hiding, love, and pain _ . Then she felt a gentle and soothing brush against her mind--her innermost self, like fingertips or a soft breath. Before she could feel invaded, it withdrew and with it, the last vestiges of her dream, her need to die. The connection between them dimmed with it.

“You’ve been bewitched.” He said with anger, though not at her. 

“What? . . . What did you just do? Were you inside my mind?! How dare you!” She snarled at him. He could smell her, feel her. That mental connection shouldn’t have had this kind of an effect, but it clearly did and there were aftereffects. It felt like he was inside of her still and she was all around him, in all sorts of ways and his head was swimming.

She back-handed him across the cheek with her hand. Her emotions were giving her whiplash, it felt so nice to have him . . . but then! Not without her permission. She realized a second after she had done it, that with his speed, he could have stopped her hand. But he did not. She was breathing heavy, but not just from the exertion. He was everywhere.

“Hmmm. I deserved that.” He had been pressed into her, still holding her from the dream, even though it was clearly no longer necessary. The connection dimmed a bit more.

He shifted his jaw and touched his lip. His fingers came back with a dot of blood. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry--I shouldn’t have--” 

Her ire softened, but only slightly. 

He looked her straight in the eye.

“That was wrong of me to do. For that I am sorry. But it had to be done. Whoever bewitched you left remnants of it in your mind. It surfaced during your dream”

They both sat up in bed as they eyed each other.

She swallowed, trying to comprehend.

“In that case . . . did you banish those horrible feelings?” 

He nodded. 

“To an extent. The bewitchment is pushing you to kill yourself. But those things you saw . . .”

She closed her eyes as more tears threatened to fall.

“I still did them . . .”

“Hmm. Your hands but not your will. Someone bewitched you to make you do those things.”

She exhaled a sob. She saw something in his eyes--in his mind, his past--she had only ever seen in her own. _Strength, intelligence, other-worldly ferocity, but painful loneliness, and a bitterness that still wasn’t thick enough to completely stomp out hope_ ; she could still feel it, _feel him_ _and he felt her_.

“You said I was bewitched? What do you mean.” He closed his eyes slowly. 

“My magic abilities aren’t powerful enough to tell you much more than that. I was able to remove its last hold on your mind and to tell it made you do . . . what you were killed for. But not much more. We need someone with more powerful magic to get you those answers.”

She sat in silence as she processed what it all meant. So, she wasn’t mad, someone had . . . forced her to kill all those people. She felt bile in her throat and just barely made it to the side of the bed as she threw up.

“That, is also entirely normal.” Geralt gestured at her vomit like it was a pocket of flowers.

She snorted. 

“You talk about bewitchment as if you have gone through it.”

He was silent for a beat, two.

“Witchers go through lots of tests, let’s put it that way.” He sighed an insufferable sigh.

“What is it?”

“There’s only one person who is powerful enough that I know of to help you.” Daenerys raised her brow at him, partly at the ridiculousness of this situation: her puke on the floor, them in linen robes in bed together after she had a bewitched dream.

“Who?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.”


	3. Fire, Trees, and Dandelion Greens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The connection grows, a third wheel appears, things get heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Sorry I made everyone wait so long for this update. I have this story planned out and ready to go for each chapter. I just tend to marinate on them for way to long. Also, Covid has thrown a hand grenade in my life (like most other people I'm guessing). But rest assured, I love this story too much not to finish it.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you all for your kind words, patience and love. You are a glorious blessing. I hope you enjoy! *hugs kisses*
> 
> Also, I take some liberties with The Witcher universe again for the plot. Nothing too extreme, but moving more off canon as we go.

Daenerys would have no more waking nightmares, bewitched or otherwise, once they cleaned up her vomit off the floor and decided to sleep as best they could for the remainder of the night.

It was strange enough that they were both only partially clothed as they cleaned, but the cleaning made things feel almost, _domestic._ They went about it quickly and efficiently, with a few awkward chuckles over the situation, but it was like they had a silent agreement not to discuss the real elephant in the room, the magnetic attraction they felt for one another and the fact that they seemed to slowly be linking together, if the mental connection they felt was any indication. It was tension you could cut with a knife. With a few more completely out of character pleasantries, they went back to bed. 

“Sleep as best you can.” Geralt said as he laid on top of the covers to allow Daenerys to lay beneath them as an additional barrier between them.

“Yes, you too.” She smiled a political smile. _No, this is even worse than arguing and being at each other’s throats._

“Well, goodnight.” They laid in silence, both sets of eyes wide open, jaws clenched.

“ . . . . .”

“. . . . . .I think _I_ may throw up if we continue speaking this way.” Geralt said as he rolled over.

Daenerys chuckled. “Mmm. . . If you put your hands on me again without permission, we’ll see if Witchers are resistant to dragon fire.” Daenerys said snarkily as she closed her eyes.

Geralt’s dark laughter was the last sound she heard as she fell asleep.

****

She couldn’t remember any of her dreams upon waking except the feelings they left behind; she felt safe, cared for, loved, and hot everywhere. She was so aroused when morning came, she worried that she might have cried out in her sleep. She chalked it up the otherworldly feeling of having Geralt inside of her mind, her being. It had to just be after-effects of whatever it was he did. All of it was so far from any complete truth she had ever felt (she felt some of those feelings before, certainly, but never en masse), that she thought little of it; but, she was thankful for the pleasant feelings left behind all the same. 

She woke early, the light shimmering through the windows told her it wasn’t long after dawn. Geralt still slept comfortably beside her. Some instinct told her that he hadn’t truly slept in a very long time. Mentally checking on Drogon, she sensed he was awake and communicating with someone else? It felt a bit like it would when he was playing with his brothers. Looking around, she noted that their clothing and armor were spotless. She snorted to herself and shook her head-- _more magic._ She sensed Geralt rousing beside her.

_**********_

Geralt also slept soundly once he could hear Daenerys’ breathing even out and deepen. He slept more soundly than he had in years—except for the raging hard-on he had in the morning. It’s like not his parts were known not to work. He might be a Witcher, but he was certainly very much a functioning male. He had just _never_ reacted this strongly to anyone who hadn’t even touched him yet. It was like this woman--with her glowing radiance--had put him into heat and bound him to her; the mental connection between them only made the truth more apparent. He refused to allow himself to consider the implications of what any of that might mean, but he couldn’t deny it went beyond any way his mental spell had ever gone.

_Did he really hear her moan in her sleep?_ Or did his body want him to believe he did? A few conjured images of the last Striga he fought set that to rights, no time for a distraction like that now that he needed to wake and start their search for Yen.

Thinking he was up first, Geralt stretched his back, thankful for the sleep--despite his arousal--and started when he heard Daenerys beside him, already awake. Even his normally sharp perception and awareness was a little muddied because of his dreams.

“Good Morning.” 

Purple met golden as he broke their stare and swallowed, her voice sending a tremor down his flesh. He had to get his reactions to her under control to keep his credence as a Witcher. He struggled yesterday and that was _before_ he had unintentionally melded their minds together. 

“Hmm.” He replied with his eyes still closed, grimacing slightly to get control of himself.

She licked her lips as she heard his voice, her own eyes betraying her as she eyed his jawline, his plush lips. She shifted quickly and made to turn, gesturing to their clothing.

“Dragon magic again?” Geralt tore his wandering eyes away from her face--where they had found themselves again--and noticed the spotless armor and snorted.

“It’s a wonder they aren’t all running the world if they have the power to clean clothing with a snap of their fingers.” 

Needing to get out of the bed before he did something without thinking, he cleared his throat again and stood up, walking over to his leathers, starting to slide into them under his robe. Once they were just under his ass, he fully removed the remainder of his robe as he slowly pulled up and started to lace his pants. 

Daenerys turned back to him the moment he left the bed. Her sharp gaze trailed him. His muscled back and sculpted chest were on full display as he dropped his robe; she caught sight of a trail of darker hair on his stomach and the cut of his hip flexors that made her bite her tongue before she met his eyes, knowing she had been caught. His eyebrows raised as he eyed her, smirking, a challenge in his eyes. 

He couldn’t stop himself either, her reactions were a drug he was quickly becoming addicted to and he _needed_ to push her. His long hair was down and some of it had fallen a bit into his face making him look all the more appealing as they stared at one another for one breath, two.

Daenerys had seen many fine shirtless men in her life, but this one was turning her hot blood from a rolling fire to an inferno. She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes at his gaze.

“I imagine that if dragons in this world are capable of such wonders that they get enjoyment from leaving you dirty. Why help with humans who so clearly persecute their kind?” She said as she slid out of bed--two could play this game. Geralt tilted his head in acknowledgement of her point and her movement, wondering what she was doing.

Geralt’s eyes were still locked on her as he finished lacing his pants; shirtless still, he crossed his arms--deliberately, she thought--because his pectorals flexed and jumped as did his sculpted forearms. They watched each other for a breath again as they stood there, a silent face-off, the thin linen robe barely concealing her; the bed between them like a presence in the room. 

Daenerys smirked at him. In one smooth motion, she completely removed her robe, confidently baring her full body for him to see for the second time and sauntered over to the table with her clothing and armour, shifting her gaze away from him as she walked.

“Fuck,” he said on a sharp intake of breath. 

Geralt actually swayed and had to brace himself with one hand on the wall as he got a full look at the front of her this time and quickly averted his eyes. Jaw clenched, he couldn’t stop himself from gazing over his shoulder at her and caught a perfect view of her strong, curved, feminine back and a perfect round ass. He groaned and closed his eyes, every muscle straining to touch her, make her his. But he remained locked where he was and only allowed himself those two glances he had already taken. No one had ever had this kind of an effect on him. Match point to the Mother of Dragons.

Daenerys was alight with goosebumps and pleasure at the strength of his reaction to her body for the second time in less than 24 hours. She was never one to play with her food--she usually got straight to the point; but, Geralt seemed to be in an entirely different class from all other men she had contact with or interest in. Not just a morsel to savor. He was electric, real--perhaps a true companion? She stopped that thought immediately. Given all she had been through and all she knew about how horrible things could turn out, she couldn’t allow herself the idea. The butterflies had taken flight within her; her heart, however, was still very much locked within its castle walls and protected for now.

Still, somehow, she knew deep in her bones that no matter how hard she pushed him, he would never force himself on her until it was clear she was ready. It was a foolish feeling really. How could she be so certain? But she had seen it-- _felt it_ \--when their minds were connected. He had buried his own self nearly as deep if not deeper than her own. All that bluster and stone-facedness of his was concealing a tumultuous sea of emotion within him. A very dark part of her wanted to feel it when it was unleashed. Would it feel like a wave to have his heaviness crash over her? Or would it be the first and only fire to ever burn her, the hottest she would ever experience? 

She swallowed.

Now, it was just a game of cat and mouse---or rather, witcher and dragon--predator to predator. Each time they upped their little game, the invisible cords binding them together grew tighter and tighter. 

She slid into her pants and looked at him over her shoulder, confirming that he was still maintaining his gentlemanly position with his back to her after his two stolen glances, although his fist was clenched against the wall as he leaned on it, clearly restraining himself. Her butterflies renewed, she put on her remaining undergarments and next, started on her chest piece.

His sensitive hearing picked up on her trying to tighten her form-fitting chest armour. That had Geralt turning back to her and finally moving toward her. His eyes were molten as they met hers. He came within a hair’s breadth of her, their lips almost touching. Daenerys’ nipples strained of their own accord to touch him. Both of them covered in goosebumps now, sharing each other’s breath.

He obviously looked down at her chest piece.

“May I?” Her lips parted on the depth of his voice, his question.

“Please.” He swallowed the sound of her words.

Slowly his hands came up to her arms, his fingertips gliding up and just barely touching her to meet the tightening straps on either side of her chest piece. He shifted his weight slightly to better assist her, his head coming over the top of hers. She shifted back a bit and tilted her head up to try to keep his gaze. 

“Does this. . .always happen when you use that mental magic?” She already knew the answer, could _feel_ it in her bones, but she wanted to hear him say it all the same.

He swallowed and looked at her glowing hair, her gem-like eyes. “No. This has never happened . . .to me.” An answer to more than one question. His voice like a finger running down her spine.

She watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he pulled the first strap tight. She closed her eyes at the pleasure it made her feel. Her hands clenching at her sides to stop from touching the bare expanse of his chest in front of her.

His glowing eyes found hers.

“Too tight?” She tilted her head to meet him, aligning their lips again. His eyes slid slowly to the plump perfection of her lips. 

She whispered back to him. “Just right.” His hands found the second strap. The first was near the top, around her clavicle, this one sat aligned with her breasts. He pulled it taut and she inhaled sharply and closed her eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes found hers again. Despite the universe seeming to force them together with increasing gravitational force, he had seen her dream, had seen the betrayal of the one she had loved. He would never push her--no matter the cost. He couldn’t live with himself if he did. And the darker part of him, the _monster, the witcher,_ said he wasn’t worthy of her.

Her eyes sparkled as they searched his. His hands caressed down her chest piece to the third strap; this one sat at the top of her stomach.

“I believe you.” She said back to him with certainty. He pulled the strap tight and searched her face. His eyes rolled back in his head; he could smell her arousal now and it was driving him mad with desire as he slowly tightened the strap and shifted his jaw, trying to focus.

He licked his lips and studied her face again, brows furrowed. Geralt _knew_ she wasn’t ready. She was strong and she was fierce, but he knew better than almost anyone that it’s not easy to recover from violence from one so close and loved.

“Do you know why I’m a good hunter?” His teeth were daggers as he smiled at her, making up his mind. She smirked back, eyebrows raised. 

His hands came around to the fourth and final strap that wound around the low part of her stomach. He could feel her quickening pulse _inside_ his head.

He pulled the strap tight as a barely audible moan left her parted lips. He drew in close to her and pulled in her glorious scent on a deep inhale.

“I’m patient.” His deep voice rumbled against her skin, her lips.

In response, To remind him this was one predator to another and not hunter-to-prey, Daenerys unclenched her left fist and brought her nails to his low abdominals and dragged them across the muscle that jumped and twichted under her touch. A grunt of pleasure left Geralt’s lips at the contact.

“Good. . .Because I’m persistent”.

The roar of Drogon broke their reverie. Like a stone through glass or a spell lifting, the lust evaporated from their eyes and they blinked and looked at each other in silent question--and concern. Both of them shaking their heads to clear them. 

Daenerys cursed herself for forgetting what made her get up in the first place. Sending a pulse down her bond with him, she sensed no malice or rage, like nothing was really wrong, only frustration? Again, the feeling reminded her of when he would play and romp with Viserion and Rhaegal. Wanting to clear her head more than anything, she stepped back.

Geralt knew her mind.

“Is he . . .?” He was already moving away to the table downstairs with the rest of their gear. Daenerys scrunching her forehead in thought as she followed him down to the first floor, both finishing their clothing along the way.

“He seems fine, but is interacting with someone else it feels like. . . in play?” 

Geralt snorted. 

“Maybe our hostess?” Daenerys asked quizzically.

He only gestured his head toward the door in response as they finished gearing up, collected their things, some packaged food left for them on the table, and left.

Once outside, Daenerys was in awe of what she saw, a large mauve colored dragon with small, diamond-shaped scales was rolling around in the grass and rumbling at Drogon in the field beyond. Drogon was at least double if not triple the size of this other dragon. She would turn and playfully nip at his underbelly and Drogon seemed to begrudgingly let her. 

“Drogon has found himself a tutor. Smells just like our hostess.” Geralt said out of the side of his mouth as he took in their scent. Seeing as there was clearly no danger and he was still trying to figure out what the hell happened between them a few moments ago, Geralt headed to the barn to begin saddling Roach, not another word between them. 

Daenerys knew she was attracted to Geralt and felt a certain bond with him that was quickly growing, but what they just experienced inside felt--beyond their control. Whatever it was, Daenerys hated being controlled and she planned to find out just what was happening. For now, however, she focused on her son.

As she watched the two dragons play, Daenerys smiled in sadness at their interaction, thinking of her two lost sons. 

Suddenly, the mauve dragon disappeared for a moment and reappeared behind Drogon, nipping at his rear hide. Although Daenerys was more than familiar with how her son moved, it still amazed her to see how fast he turned around to bat playfully at his attacker. Another nip and for a moment Drogon rumbled with irritation and then disappeared himself.

Daenerys gasped in momentary fright sending protective instincts down her bond, warmth and love was her answer as Drogon reappeared, his large glowing red eyes looking at her with meaning. It was nonsensical, her reaction, and she knew it; she could feel that he was still there, but it didn’t make it any less frightening for her to watch him blink out of her sight for a moment. 

As if he were somehow connected to her and Drogon’s bond, Geralt was jogging back to her side again, somehow sensing her fear, Roach’s reins in his hand as the horse followed behind at an easy gait.

“Everything alright?” He eyed Drogon in the nearby field as the mauve dragon’s large body shimmered and she became their elderly hostess again. 

She smiled a forced smile, facade of strength slipping back into place. As she met his eyes and the elder-dragon walked toward them, she swallowed, “yes.”

“Your son has learned new tricks very quickly. Far faster than any of us ever could.” The elderly form human of their hostess called as she neared them.

Geralt raised his brow at the old woman.

“I assume you taught him this for protection?” Daenerys asked as her son ate the last of the goat flock for his second breakfast.

“Yes, this and a few other tricks. It will serve you all better on the path you must take, the things you must do.” 

Drogon rumbled in their direction and Daenerys blinked at the clear image and sensation of flight that filled her mind, like a question. Her communication with her son was getting better and for that she was thankful, regardless of whatever else she might face. 

She sent back a feeling of happiness and confirmation and without hesitating, Drogon took off into the sky and simultaneously disappeared from sight, becoming invisible again. Before her stomach could clench in reaction, she felt another image of glowing red eyes in her mind, safety, fire, love and warmth, Drogon reassuring her. There was an undercurrent in the image too, the smell of leather, spice, a fire waiting to be lit, a flash of yellow eyes. She shook her head. Daenerys struggled to hide the tears in her eyes at her ability to more clearly speak with her son, why Geralt was becoming linked to it was curious. It had to simply be an after-effect of last night.

The old woman gazed knowingly at her as Geralt had turned to pretend to tighten something on the saddle once more; he wasn’t prepared for the blow-back he felt, the roaring anguish and fear simmering beneath the surface. _These feelings are not my own. I can feel her._ He blinked to clear his head, like a door slamming, the feelings went away.

“His speech with you is stronger too. The stronger the bond and all of your willingness to speak to each other, the harder it will be for the Other to break it.” The old women stared long at Daenerys as she spoke, but then her gaze turned to Geralt as well and lingered there, a knowing look in her eyes. 

Fear of his own rose as Geralt realized that his consciousness, Daenerys’, and Drogon’s all seemed to be connected now, somehow. He shifted his jaw, uneasy at what it meant and glanced at the Mother of Dragons, thinking she was either choosing to ignore it or had not allowed herself to feel him yet, too sheltered inside her own pain.

“We’ll need to head west to find Yennefer. She’s probably several leagues away by now . . .” Geralt said as he turned away again and swung up onto Roach. The sun was already fairly high in the sky; they’d both gotten plenty of rest, but that also meant the morning was well underway.

Daenerys, broken out of her discomfort at the eerie words of their hostess, stepped forward all the same, and took the hands of the elderly figure.

“Thank you for helping me, helping my son and for protecting us last night.” Their hands joined; Daenerys’ hands still hotter than those of the human form of their dragon hostess.

“We all have a role to play in the war for the living.” 

Daenerys nearly stumbled at that turn of phrase, jaw set tight as she locked down the pain that threatened to rise from her memories. She could only nod her head as she turned to Geralt and took his offered hand onto Roach’s back. 

_If I look back, I am lost_.

“Farewell” a bare breath of wind and the old woman was gone, as was the house and grounds where they had stayed. Geralt and Daenerys now sat upon Roach on just an open field behind the village. 

Daenerys shifted in shock in front Geralt, still uncomfortable with what she witnessed and what the old dragon said. The shale gravel of Geralt’s voice, the heat of his breath on the fine hairs of her neck, his solid mass behind her brought her back to earth, grounded her.

“You get used to that after a while.” His breath in her ear sent a tremor to her core. A chuckle burst from her lips. 

“The disappearing or . . .?” 

Geralt set Roach into a trot.

“If I had a coin for all the prophetic shit I hear, I wouldn’t be a Witcher.” Silence for a few beats.

“I doubt that, you seem rather honor bound despite your reluctance.” His thighs clenched as she read him so well.

“Hmmm.” He leaned forward seemingly with the intention of setting Roach into a canter, but truly meant to press his body into hers, her intake of breath his reward as they entered the treeline.

**********

They had been heading west at a slow canter for near-on six hours through another thick forest in companionable, albeit sometimes awkward, silence, stopping only briefly to eat some dried fruit and jerky their hostess had packed for them and give some water to Roach. 

When the trees started to thin after the sun was well beyond its apex, the walls of another town became visible. It was as though neither wanted to break the feeling of being near the other, bodies close together on the back of Roach. Drogon following along peacefully concealed from above. 

Their emotions and concerns about what was happening between them in the eye of the storm for now.

“So this . . .Yennefer is a powerful sorceress?” 

“Mmm.” He set Roach out of the underbrush and onto the road to head into the town. 

“How do you know her?” 

Geralt shifted in his seat as he cleared his throat. Daenerys raised her eyebrow at his non-answer, turning her head slightly so her ear would be better aligned with his face behind her. They approached a sign board on the edge of the town and Geralt dismounted, seeing something that caught his eye and completely ignoring her question. He ripped the page off the board.

“What is it?” He didn’t answer for several beats, whether ignoring her because of her previous question, she wasn’t completely certain.

She contemplated taking off on Roach on her own, just to watch him chase after them, running in those tight leathers of his. She _was_ very hard to catch on horseback. She smirked to herself as she was about to do it, a streak of wildness and freedom burning within her. Geralt saved himself unknowingly from a nasty romp around the countryside when he finally spoke.

“We’ll need coin to catch up with Yen.” His jaw shifted in irritation, “if she’s gone where I suspect she has.” 

Daenerys smirked at the familiar name he used, realizing with amusement that Yennefer seemed like a former lover of his perhaps and she found his awkwardness about it all the more interesting. Yet, she felt no jealousy, only curiosity of what this Yennefer must be like.

She glanced over at the paper he held, unable to make out the written language on the page. 

He answered her unasked question.

“It’s a hunt request for a Witcher. Kikimora extermination for coin.” He folded it and put it in a pocket on one of Roach’s saddlebags, moving to another bag to pull out a weapon she hadn’t yet seen him use, a glittering blade with writing on it. His face taking on a bitter caste of seriousness. 

“It won’t take me long.” She raised her eyebrow at his wording. 

“What are Kikimora and how many?” She asked, trying to understand what he was undertaking and dismounting herself.

“Go to the inn and wait for me.” He said as he put a second blade on his back, now carrying two very different looking long swords.

Daenerys’ jaw clenched as her eyes narrowed. 

“No.” 

His eyes glimmered at her firm response as he turned to her. He strode the three steps toward her around Roach with a predatory gait, golden yellow met purple as they stood toe to toe. 

“A herd of Kikimora is not a good time to try out your skills with a blade, Dragon Queen.” His voice was a physical presence against her skin.

She seethed at him.

“You forget that my son breathes fire.”

“No,” a growl with an inhuman rumble to it as he stepped into her personal space. Gooseflesh erupted on her skin 

“Stay. at. The. inn.” He gazed at her once more and took off at superhuman speed into the underbrush, making it impossible for her to follow directly.

She sighed and turned to Roach. Daenerys knew he probably was right, but all the same, it annoyed her.

“Is he always so protective and prideful?” She reached out to brush her fingers over Roach’s face, who whineyed in sympathy. Daenerys turned to look at the town gates as she took Roach’s reins, walking forward to seek out the inn.

*********

Daenerys could feel the stares of the townsfolk as she made her way through the main thoroughfare. She had a feeling her features, which so closely resembled those of Geralt, must somehow be taboo in this world, whether because all Witcher’s bore the hair color and feature set, she wasn’t sure. All the same, when she rounded another corner, she pulled on the animal skin cloak the sisters had given her and covered her head.

An older man setting up a fruit stall smiled at her. Figuring it was her best option considering he was the only one to do so thus far, she approached.

“Can you point me in the direction of your inn?” Daenerys smiled kindly.

“Certainly, lass, it’s just down this road and to the left, can’t miss it. Sign bears a giant ox.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure, but she could swear that his eyes glimmered for a moment in a way that was wrong. But, he smiled and went about his work seemingly completely unaffected by her appearance.

“Thank you.” Roach whineyed behind her, reacting strangely to the man. Tutting kindly to the horse, Daenerys continued on.

The man was right, when she turned left from the road, she saw the hanging sign of the inn, complete with a large ox. Now that she had found the inn, she wasn’t sure what to tell Drogon. He was getting tired and hungry. As though sensing her distress, she saw an image of him appearing and disappearing into her mind--indicating he was still hidden--and happily communicating with her.

Daenerys saw a narrow field of sheep behind the inn, although not something she would have allowed in her past life, she knew her son was hungry and owed no loyalty to this world, except for those that had helped her. She sent permission to her son to land, and take some sheep, provided he remained hidden while doing it and harmed no others. The alternative, keeping him aloft and frustrated and hungry, was sure to make him less likely to listen to her later. It couldn’t be helped for now.

Love and affection met her request. Sighing at the situation she was in, Daernerys approached the barn near the inn where other guests kept their horses and got Roach settled, finding the coin purses in the saddlebags, grabbing another bag that looked important because of the potions it held, and grabbing a dagger from the weapon bag and hiding it beneath her cloak. She did her best to secure everything else, but she certainly wasn’t capable of shouldering all the bags into the inn. The rest would have to wait for Geralt or until she found a room.

Entering the inn, it felt as though a pin dropped as all talking ceased and eyes turned toward her, Even with her cloak, her woman’s figure was clear in her tight leather and armor. As was the case in Westeros, an armored woman travelling alone seemed to not be common in this world either.

She set her jaw and approached the counter, ignoring the stares. Thankfully, the bard loudly playing the lute at the bar continued his song, which provided some distraction. 

The barkeep walked over. 

“Ale, please, barn space for my horse, a room, and a bowl of soup.” He eyed her critically. Her hood was still up, but her eye color was still visible.

“3 gold pieces.” Daenerys eyed the coins already on the table for other glasses of ale and what a barmaid had taken from a table nearby. The rest of the inn had gone back to their meals and private conversations once she settled at the bar, less interested in her now. The cost the barkeep put forth seemed fair, so she handed the coins over.

She watched the barkeep fill her ale, ensuring nothing was added. He placed it quickly in front of her and went to the next customer. The inn’s bar wasn’t full to the rafters, but there were only a handful of seats left around the bar, one of them was in between her and the singing bard to her left.

As she sipped her ale, she really heard the words of the obnoxious song the bard two seats down from her was singing--he appeared to be quite sad, sniffles interspersing his lyrics.

“When this humble bard

was quickly cast aside 

‘neath the mountainside

to save dragon spawn

From certain demise

Was what began

These plaintive cries:

Toss a coin to your Witcher

O Valley of Plenty

Lost my good friend the Witcher

O Valley of Plenty

His head is as hard 

as the rock we climbed

He’d found himself

And us besides

But his words cut just like a knife

Can’t be considerate 

to save his life

What a dick is your Witcher

O Valley of Plenty

That Geralt the Witcher

O Valley of Plenty.”

He paused to swig his ale. Daenerys’ eyes went wide as she realized the subject of the song. She couldn’t help but snort. As the bard finished the ale at the bottom of his cup, their eyes met. His eyes widened and he started coughing, nearly dropping his lute, choking on his ale.

Daenerys couldn’t help it, there was something hopeless and annoyingly endearing about the bard. She reached out and slapped him on the back to help settle his cough.

“Fair--”cough--“maiden”--wheeze--”please allow me”--snort--”to introduce myself. Jaskier, the world renowned bard and poet at your service.” 

Daenerys smiled broadly and nodded as he bowed in his seat, still clearing his throat from the coughing.

“Are you alright?” She asked as she eyed him.

“Of course, of course. Much better now that I’ve met your acquaintance. Mind if I join you?” He gestured to the empty stool between them. 

Daenerys raised her brow and shrugged. He stood up, stumbling a bit with his lute and moved seats. The motion caused his eyes to drag over the very unique and strikingly familiar bag of potions kept safe beside her chair.

He nearly gasped, which sounded almost like a shriek as he stumbled again, falling into the chair. 

“Has he abandoned you too?! Made you cart around his goods to peddle for him? What a raging scum--” He growled and on a dime his eyes got teary, gasping again, rambling somewhat incoherently to himself.

“Or. . . .no. . .impossible. . . is he . . .dead!? Please he mustn’t---” Jaskier turned to her desperation in his eyes; looking like he was about to lose himself in a rambling tizzy, Daenerys stopped him, hand on his arm.

“Not dead, just out hunting. I’m here waiting for him.” Jaskier seemed to settle with that and put his chin in his hand, sighing.

“Uggh,” followed by a very dramatic pause and a deep sigh.

“That’s how it starts, he makes you wait. ‘Stay here, Jaskier, it’s too dangerous.’” Said with what Daenerys assumed was Jaskier’s attempt at impersonating the deep voice of Geralt. She covered her mouth to stop her laughter.

“‘Watch Roach Jaskier’ or ‘I’ll be back’ but he never says when, does he? Or, oh, my personal favorite, just ‘Hmmm.’ With no real answer at all.” Daenerys couldn’t help it, as a giggle burst forth.

“I see you are familiar with all the Geraltisms. The only really helpful one is when he says ‘fuck’ in that tone of his, then you know shit has hit the proverbial windmill as it were.” Her eyes glittered with her smile as she took another sip of ale.

“How did you get separated?” She asked after swallowing.

Jaskier sighed again. 

“Well . . .that is. . .on our last mission, I might have over-overslept a bit and arrived late to a dragon-saving thing. Geralt seemed very upset and Yennefer was already gone. Geralt was inconsolable--”

“Yennefer? Of Vengerberg? She was with you both?” Jaskier nodded, scratching his hair as he leaned his lute in the chair on his other side. 

“Keyword _was_. I’m sure she’s off doing important magic-y things now.” He blew a loud breath through his lips, vibrating them together like a frustrated child as he did so.

“Did they have a falling out?” Daenerys was being so nosey--she almost felt ashamed of herself--almost.

“Well, I didn’t quite understand it exactly. There was this Jinn that Yennefer tried to get power from. But, the Jinn was actually supposed to grant Geralt’s wishes. I think he wished for something inappropriate and she found out. I don’t know . . .there were sexy times too.” 

He tittered to himself as if he was present to witness the coupling, his eyes getting distant as he remembered it perhaps. Daenerys raised her eyebrows. She didn’t completely comprehend everything the bard had stumbled through in one long breath just now, but she was beginning to understand why Geralt had told Jaskier to leave off, at least partly. She sighed and didn’t respond.

Jaskier seemed unable to handle a silence of greater than 10 seconds as he turned to her again. 

“And how pray tell did you end up shouldering Geralt’s disgruntled company? The man makes friends faster than I thought.” His smile was a little crooked, hurt even.

Daenerys still wasn’t totally sure what was going on, but the pieces were beginning to click into place. Her Witcher had grown attached to this Yennefer, for whatever reason she left, Jaskier no doubt said something completely unhelpful and Geralt’s emotions saw him as collateral damage.The brooding solitary wolf indeed. She was doomed to encounter this type. At least Geralt was holding her interest and far greater approval from her son than a certain dark-haired brooding type ever did.

“He saved our lives.” Daenerys said simply as Jaskier flinched.

“‘Our?’” He looked around like he was trying to find a child or bundle in her arms that she had hidden or someone else with her.

“Ahhh! Maybe you are using the royal ‘we’.” 

Daenerys sighed and blinked slowly, not wanting to confirm or deny either way. Jaskier seemed harmless, but this was still a crowded inn.

He leaned into her a face a bit like he was trying to better discern her features in his inebriated state. He caught the edge of her pale white hair.

“My lady, you are stunning.” He whispered a stage whisper and clumsily took her hand, kissing it. Daenerys’ eyebrows raised comically at his antics.

“Why Geralt would leave you to tend to his goods” he gestured to the bag of potions “when you so clearly need companionship--”

“What she _needs_ is not of your concern.” A deep voice from behind them. 

Daenerys could _feel him_ behind her and felt her thighs clench from his voice. Despite her concerns over him and his absence, the intensity of her reactions to his voice were only increasing. The mental connection they have magnifying.

Jaskier, however, nearly fell from his seat as he turned to meet Geralt’s eyes. Eyes that were surrounded by a body covered in black gore. 

“Ger--you--how--” Jaskier stumbled over his words as Geralt merely glanced at him and raised his eyebrows.

His eyes shifted to Danenerys’ and despite the fact that he seemed to be in desperate need of another bath, she couldn’t hide the pleasure and relief in her eyes at seeing him returned unharmed. The glimmer in his glowing yellow eyes seemed to say he was just as happy to see her as well, his eyes scanning her for any injuries. His ridiculous overprotectiveness warmed her.

“I’m alright, just got us a room.” He swallowed and nodded as he realized he had been caught fussing over her. He met her eyes again and then quickly flicked his eyes skyward, raising his brows in question.

Daenerys smirked at his equal concern for her son. Not wanting to speak reference to him aloud, she gave him the slightest nod, indicating Drogon was settled for now. Geralt swallowed and nodded back.

“Is this. . .,” she gestured to his outfit change “because of the Kikimora?” He snorted.

“They tend to get a little grabby with how they fight, also great lovers of swamps.” 

Her nose scrunched. That explained the smell. 

Although she’s thankful to also not be covered in such muck, she still secretly would have preferred to stay by his side--a completely out of character thought to want to be joined at the hip with anyone else, especially for the Dragon’s daughter.

Needing to change her line of thought, she glanced down as both of them continued to ignore Jaskier’s attempts at language. 

“I see you found Roach.” She gestured to the other saddlebags in Geralt’s hands, seeing also a new stuffed coin purse.

“Mmm . . .” 

The barkeep had made his way over and nodded his head at Geralt, covering his nose at the smell.

“Need a bath, Witcher?” The inn grew silent again for a moment as they stared at Geralt. Their suspicions at his identity now confirmed. He sent a few dagger-eyed looks to some of the patrons, who quickly looked away in fear, ensuring they kept their distance from him and his companions. Only one Witcher had his looks and his ferocity.

Geralt flipped a few more coins to the barkeep as he nodded.

“Yes. A bowl of soup and more ale.”

The barkeep went to get his ale and the rest of the inn went back to its business for the moment.

Jaskier finally seemed able to string a few sentences together.

“Geralt, you great big ass! Can’t you at least say ‘hello?’” That actually got him to chuckle and turn his body which had subconsciously been turned protectively toward Daenerys. 

“Hello, Jaskier.” Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

“The maids have got a tub in your room for you.” The barkeep said as he placed the ale down in front of them. Geralt reached over and took two large gulps of ale, no doubt clearing the taste in his mouth.

He turned back to Daenerys. 

“I’m going to clean up and put the bags in the room.”

He eyed the potions bag and traced her body, lingering where she had hidden the dagger and smirking. Heat rose to her face as he did so.

Their eyes met again, the unspoken truth of the past few days and her resurrection passing between them.

“Keep an eye on that one.” She nodded in understanding, a statement about more than just the bag of potions. 

“I’ll be here.”

He stepped away and headed to the rooms.

Jaskier rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. 

Daenerys turned to eat some of her soup that had just arrived in front of her. Chunks of potatoes, carrots, and other root vegetables floated in a broth with some sort of roast. It was hearty and tasted decent. She’d certainly had worse in her time begging for scraps far east of the narrow sea. 

“. . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be that openly attentive to anyone, not even Yennefer.” Jaskier turned to eye her in wonder as she continued to enjoy her soup. 

“Who _are_ you?” Deciding he at least deserved her name for being more perceptive than he seemed and clearly still put out by Geralt’s lack of a better greeting, she answered.

“Daenerys.” She scooped up another piece of potato and savored the warmth it gave her throat. 

“What a magnificent name.” He clumsily leaned closer again, almost bumping her bowl of soup with his forearm in his still inebriated state, which she moved slightly to prevent giving him another chance to do so.

“You _are_ royalty aren’t you? Are you Elven? Is he hired to protect you?” All questions said with a conspiratorial whisper. 

Daenerys was shocked at the momentary insult she felt that Jaskier merely thought Geralt had been hired to guard her. At first though, it was sort of the truth; but now, now it was something else entirely. Still, she chose to point out the more curious question.

“Elves?” Said also with a whisper. Perhaps they were something of a taboo and her features painted her as one? Was that why she got so many stares?

Jaskier started.

“You--wha? Have you never heard?” He scratched his head and then shook it as if confused. The ale seemed to be catching up to him all at once. 

He slumped in his chair for a bit, muttering to himself, while Daenerys dug into her stew.

Jaskier seemed to come to some conclusion and raised his head squinting at her. Whispering again, “you _are_ an elf, just in hiding.” 

He nodded his head, satisfied with what he thought was his apparent discovery. Daenerys just shrugged her shoulders, let him have his ideas.

Shortly thereafter, a muscular arm reached possessively behind her. Daenerys could sense him, just as before, without turning.

“She’s not an elf.” Geralt answered, quickly swallowing the rest of his ale. He turned to Jaskier and eyed him pointedly.

“She’s not a job either.” He shifted his jaw as though the suggestion left a bad taste in his mouth and then blinked like he couldn’t believe he said that out loud and moved to lean his body in between Daenerys and Jaskier.

Daenerys raised her brow at his behavior. He was acting more and more like a territorial predator with its mate by the minute. Yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed by the possessiveness; instead, it excited her.

“Wha--why--she isn’t your sister is she?” Jaskier said with his head cocked to the side, trying to meet Daenerys’ eyes around Geralt’s bulk.

Daenerys burst out laughing--it had a bit of a bitter twinge. After all, her last set of feelings anywhere close to this strong were toward a blood relative. Still, laughing about it felt good. It felt even better to realize her feelings for Geralt were an ocean of power to the small raging river she felt for . . .

“NO. She’s not my damned sister.” Geralt practically growled at Jaskier. He stepped back and snorted. Daenerys started laughing again seeing the confusion growing on Jaskier’s face, she turned her eyes to the vibrating and irritated Witcher still standing protectively in her bubble.

Geralt’s hair was back in its normal half up state and pulled back cleanly from his face. He wore a new clean set of leathers. These looked even more painted on than the last. The musk coming from his skin was setting Daenerys ablaze. He had certainly cleaned up quickly. But this smell, this was all him. His skin, his essence.

_How_ with all the other smells in the inn, was her nose able to pick out the details of his scent, like she was keyed to it? Their eyes met as her mirth died down. His jaw was set in irritation, but she could see a glimmer of mirth in his eyes too. The mirth was quickly replaced with hunger, however; he seemed just as keyed to her. 

Bringing his other arm around her body to reach the bartop, he took his bowl of soup with both hands, opting to drink it rather than eat it.

“Work up a good sweat slaying Kikimora?” Daenerys said as she eyed him gulping his meal. Their glowing eyes hungrily gazing at one another.

“You know, Witcher or not, Geralt, it is never good to gulp your food. Is that why you were so cross with me and left? Because I would nag you for gulping? Or did you have indigestion? If you had listened, then you wouldn’t have it you know. It’s also never good for new intimacy. I always wondered if that’s what kept you up at night. Indigestion. Gas too. Ah! Yen must have had a sensitive nose.” Geralt growled and put his hand momentarily over Jaskier’s mouth, eyeing him pointedly.

Daenerys’ eyes danced with mirth again at their exchange. Jaskier wiggled his way back from Geralt’s sizable palm and was quiet for a moment, but clearly completely misunderstanding the reason for Geralt’s demand that he silence himself.

“Are we danger?!” He glanced around wildly, swaying a bit on his stool. “It’s not like there’s another fight to run off to. . .is there?”

Geralt set his now empty bowl down with emphasis as his eyes burned into Daenerys’. He seemed to have worked up something fighting the Kikimora. His blood was definitely up. 

“No, not a fight. . .” Geralt shifted his weight and eyed Daenerys suggestively. Her eyes glimmered. _He wants to play_. She sent her desire for the same right back with her own eyes. 

“O, thank the gods! That’s good. I’m quite tired. Did I hear you say you have a room?” Jaskier made to stand.

Geralt growled and closed his eyes, seriously considering the use of his hand again on Jaskier, perhaps this time to knock him out.

Daenerys couldn’t help but giggle at his frustration. He looked ready to explode. He did so well holding himself in check earlier? What changed?

“No.” Geralt said as he pushed Jaskier back to his seat. 

Jaskier whined pathetically. 

“You’d leave me out here alone?! Abandonment again!?” His voice raised in volume and had some of the bar’s other patrons looking their way again. 

Geralt looked skyward and turned his gaze to Daenerys, the glance seemed simultaneously desperate, pleading, and asking for forgiveness. Daenerys just smirked and shrugged.

“He is quite drunk.” She stood up and grabbed the bag of potions.

“Yaaass”---hiccup--”he is.” Jaskier said pointedly, but drunkenly. Geralt looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“I’ll help him to our room so he can sleep it off.” Daenerys reached over to help Jaskier stand up and maneuver. 

“Two hours, Jaskier. Then I will remove you.” Geralt said as he took Daenerys’ seat at the bar, sharing one more heated glance with the Dragon Queen as she helped Jaskier to their room. 

The barkeep came over, sensing his irritation, with a new cup of ale, gesturing to Geralt.

“Hmm.” He nodded, flipping the barkeep a coin plus an extra for the forethought. The barkeep nodded in sympathy, he had been dealing with the bard for nights on end and didn’t wish the fool on anyone.

Geralt sighed and drank his ale. He needed to listen to the patrons for a while anyway, ensuring that none of them had ulterior motives for Daenarys, hidden or otherwise. Two hours, then he would go forcibly remove Jaskier from their room if he had to. 

Something about fighting the Kikimora had brought up the rolling urges he kept so well suppressed for so long. He was feeling things he had never felt this strongly before. Like he needed to make Daenerys his before it was too late. _Too late? Why?_ He needed time to clear his head. Being away from her made these feelings stronger somehow. The bond winding around his soul like a creeper vine.

********

Daenerys and Jaskier hobbled down the hall to the room the barmaid led them to.

The barmaid couldn’t be much older than Daenerys herself. She eyed them curiously over her shoulder as they walked. An armoured woman helping a drunken bard to a room used by a Witcher not an hour before to bathe had to be a strange picture. 

“Will ye be needing a bath for yerself or the bard, mi’lady?” The barmaid asked. She gestured for them toward the room as she opened the door.

“No, thank you. He just needs to sleep off the ale.” Daenerys said amicably.

She nodded. 

“If ye wake early enough, I will save you and the White Wolf some sweet buns in the morning. Not many understand Witchers, but I know his kind protect us. Door to the privies outside is just through there.” She said good naturedly as she gestured to a large oaken door at the end of the hall. 

Daenerys smiled and nodded, unsure how she should respond. Was the barmaid seeking to comfort them or earn favors?

Without further exchange, she left.

“The Whhhhite Wolfffff.” Jaskier said as he stumbled forward into the room and collapsed on the only bed, spreadeagled. 

Daenerys sighed. The room was spartan, but clean. She saw the huge empty wash basin that had been cleaned from Geralt’s bath earlier. One double bed would barely be enough for Geralt to sleep in by himself, nevermind for her to share with him.

But, the fire in the hearth was warm and there was a pitcher and smaller wash bowl nearby. She would at least be able to wash the dust of travel from her face before attempting to sleep. A small woven rug before the hearth was the only other object in the room. She moved to put the bag of potions by the smaller wash basin stand and pitcher, so she could keep it in her line of sight.

“Whhhhite wolf.” Jaskier moaned again from the bed as he shifted to get comfortable, clutching his lute to him like a doll.

“Why the White Wolf?” Daenerys asked as she sat herself on the floor with her back resting against the bed frame so she could make sure Jaskier didn’t expire in his sleep. She snorted to herself at her thought.

“White”---burp---”Urrkkk. Hair. Trained at the school of the Wolf. Urrkk.” Daenerys shifted to eye him with caution.

“I’m, fine, fine. Won’t puke on your pretty hair”--burp--”promise.” 

Daenerys touched her scalp, forgetting that her cape must have fallen when she was helping Jaskier to the rooms. 

“What’s the school of the Wolf?” She gazed into the flames in the hearth and waited for an answer that never came; she could hear the snorted snoring of Jaskier over her shoulder.

She sighed and settled more comfortably against the bed frame, watching the fire again.

“Hmm. White Wolf indeed.” All this time, perhaps she had found the wrong White Wolf.

Needing to check on her son for the evening before her mind went down the path of memory too deeply, she closed her eyes and sent the equivalent of a mother’s check to Drogon who responded with images of being invisible and sleeping. He was content and would bed down in the field behind the inn, having finished the goats and would remain invisible. Satisfied with his safety for the time being, she sighed again and shifted the dagger at her hip, bringing it into her hand. 

Jaskier snorted particularly loudly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him in contemplation, realizing she likely wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, given how Jaskier seemed to be down for the count for more than just a few hours.

She turned back to the fire and lifted the dagger’s blade, watching as the firelight danced on its edge. Her eyes were drawn to the flickering light, the warmth. She lost track of how long she had a silent conversation with the fire.

She moved forward, crawling closer to the flames, watching as they danced and spoke to her, of what she had gone through, what she might yet have to face. Flickers of deep red, like the eyes of her last remaining son, dancing, piercing yellow, like the eyes of a particular Witcher that were searing themselves on her soul; then, down, near the very source of the heat, the most intense part of the flame, a deep violet. She reached forward and put the hand not holding the dagger directly into the fire. Feeling the red warm her, the yellow caress and the purple remind her who she is, who she has always been. 

“You really do have the blood of the dragon.” A deep rumble from the doorway. She should have been paying more attention to her surroundings, silently moving Witchers or not.

She turned slowly without removing her hand from the fire. Geralt’s eyes shifted from locking with hers to her hand still elbow deep in the fire, watching in fascination. She slowly withdrew her arm as she turned fully to face him, though she remained kneeling on the floor. He entered the room and shut the door behind him, locked it and dropped the bar over the door that can only be opened from the inside, securing their privacy. He stalked toward her, standing above her for a moment, in quite the presumptive position. Daenerys raked her eyes up his impressive thighs and leather clad manhood to his striking eyes, raising her own brows in challenge, showing him her unburned arm.

He crouched down in front of her, leathers squeezing tightly over muscled thighs with the movement, and took her arm in his hand.

“Not a single mark.” His eyes met hers again as he kept his hands on her arm far longer than necessary.

Their gaze was forced to the only other occupant in the room when he let out a particularly loud fart and snorted again in his drunken sleep. Daenerys laughed in frustration as she put her dagger away and Geralt reluctantly let go of her arm. Geralt stood and pinched the bridge of his nose and studied Jaskier on the only bed in the room, taking up all of it with his sprawled position.

Daenerys stood as well.

“I assume his two hours have long since expired?” She shifted her weight, one hand on her hip, the other gestured to their new companion for the moment; she went over to the basin to at least splash some water on her face.

“Hmmm.” Without preamble, Geralt bent down and picked up the drooling and passed out Jaskier bridal style and carried him over to the carpet in front of the fire and dropped him with a thud. 

Instead of waking on impact, it was a testament to his true drunkenness that he merely curled up on the rug and resumed snoring.

Daenerys resumed splashing water on her face after watching the exchange, smile on her face, and grabbed the clean towel nearby to dry her skin.

“You take the bed. We won’t be getting much sleep from here on as we look for Yen.”

Geralt settled down beside the bed on the floor, his back to the frame, with a good view of the door and the high window of the room, with his long sword resting handy against his shoulder and near his hands.

Daenerys turned and raised her eyes.

“What about you? Don’t you need rest as well, you hunted today. . .?” He turned to eye her. 

“Witchers don’t need much sleep.”

“But you do sleep. . .” The words hung and they both knew she meant the other night when they slept side by side in a bed.

“That was. . . different.” Their eyes stuck to one another for a breath. Daenerys resumed cleaning the dust from her neck with the dampness still on her skin and the clean towel. 

She tucked a few stray hairs back into her braids. There was no sense in re-braiding them at this point. She’d just deal with sleeping on a bumpy head full of braids for now. She moved to sit on the bed behind his shoulders.

“What happened between you and Yennefer? Why did she leave?” 

She couldn’t help it, she is a dragon and dragons move in for the kill when they sense artifice and something told her she needed to ask. She needed to know if what happened with this other woman somehow connected to magic or compulsion.

Geralt froze as the words left her mouth. His jaw shifted. 

If Jaskier weren’t already passed out, he might have smacked him upside the head for no doubt saying more than he should. He was almost shocked at his own feelings, his own frustration that such a thing would interfere with his growing closeness to the Mother of Dragons. 

He felt so off-balance and wasn’t used to being on his back foot emotionally. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, trying to center himself back into his Witcher’s mask of indifference. If this shattered whatever had started between them, then so be it.

“I made a wish that she live to protect the last dragons.” Daenerys was taken aback. That was not what she expected at all. Geralt shifted his weight as he continued, but kept his face forward, eyes gazing into the fire.

“At the time, I was merely thinking of something to prevent the Jinn from killing us both and that would ensure she would not succeed in destroying herself. . .” he paused and clenched his fist shifting his jaw again as though he were uncomfortable; but, he turned his head slightly, so he could view Daenerys over his shoulder in his peripheral. 

“Why I thought of that statement in particular, I cannot tell you. It just---came to me.”

“And she--?” Daenerys prodded. 

He snorted bitterly.

“She got it in her head that I had wished she had fallen for me, which is beyond my will or capability to do. Our credence forbids us from seeking to bewitch another in such a way.” His eyes bored into hers as he turned to face her while still sitting on the floor, his head tilting up beside her thighs, putting them in another presumptive position, though the inverse of before.

“I swear to you, I would never seek to manipulate any being for my own desire.” His eyes glowed as he looked at her, paying some powerful penance with his eyes to this goddess who sat in judgment before him.

“No matter how strong those desires might be.” She swallowed at the insinuation and licked her lips, passing his judgment as acceptable.

“Whatever has happened between us because of my spell, is beyond my abilities or my intentions and something. . .” He seemed to struggle to find words as his pupils dilated and his breathing hitched as they gazed at one another.

“ . . .Profound?” Daenerys finished for him. 

“Mmm. Like nothing I’ve ever felt.”

She ran her fingers over his hand that lay beside her thigh on the bed. 

“I still hesitate to trust. But, everything in my being tells me to trust you.” The queenly mask was lifted momentarily from her eyes and he was shaking at the rawness of emotions he saw there, the trust, the desire.

His body clenched and he laid his sword down from his other hand as he stood and came to put one knee on the bed, like his body had a will of its own. His body leaned possessively over Daenerys as she shifted to accommodate him, arching her back and turning. They were both still in near full armor, their mouths aligned but a hairsbreadth from one another. He put a hand on her other side on the bed, starting to move his body over hers. 

“The fates seemed to have bound us together.” His voice was a rumble now.

“Is that why I can feel you in my mind, smell you when I talk to my son?” 

“Mmm.” Their lips grew closer. 

“I ached for your face when I left to hunt, felt your pulse in my veins.” His nose brushed hers.

“Perhaps I have bewitched you?” Daenerys said against his mouth as her hand found his cheek.

“Perhaps I wanted you to . . .” 

He leaned in at last to seize her mouth with his and it was like a match on powder, searing white-hot fire burned through them both. Daenerys couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her, which only made all the fine hairs on Geralt’s body stand at attention as he responded by kissing her deeper, growling possessively into her mouth. Before their mouths could open fully to one another and tongue could meet tongue a high pitched whining broke them apart.

“Gerrrrralt. I’m hungry!” 

Moaning and complaints from their third wheel on the floor. Their kiss broke off before either of them wanted it to and Geralt sat back and stood up with a frustrated grumble, walking to Jaskier to roll him over none too gently with his foot. The poor fool was talking in his sleep. 

He sighed and gazed at the ceiling. Daenerys tried to catch her breath from the arousal still rolling like a haze through her mind. Geralt turned his back fully to her.

“Forgive me, Mother of Dragons. I should not have--” 

“Can you feel me in your head like I can feel you?” He turned partly to her and nodded.

“Then you know my desires are yours. I want to feel your soul bound with mine. As foolish as it is to say, I’ve never been so driven to have man between my legs as I have with you.”

He actually stumbled as he fell to sit on the bed beside her again at that declaration. 

“Fuck.” He gripped his thighs to prevent himself from grabbing her again and doing just that.

“But--” they both said at the same time and their eyes met with a bitter smirk on both their faces. He let her finish her thought first.

“The fates have not been kind to me when it comes to who I trust.” This time he took her hand in his and slowly kissed her knuckles. 

“We should find out more about this quest first, perhaps it will explain this bond we share.” He said against her skin. His eyes seemed to say _let me earn your trust_ with how they glowed at her in appreciation with his lips caressing her hand.

She nodded, appeased that this man whose eyes made her womanhood weep with want had such respect and control. He released her hand and stood to resume his position on the floor beside her, guarding the door.

She sighed and laid down on the bed.

“Sleep, Mother of Dragons.” She turned her body toward him, running her hand on his shoulder that clenched in pleasure beneath her hand.

“Call me Daenerys.” He turned his head toward her once again smirking.

“Sleep well, Daenerys.”

********

For what little was left of the night, Daenerys was able to get a few decent hours of sleep before she awoke with a start, an urgent pulse from her son in her mind. When she came to full wakefulness, she noticed it must be just a few hours before dawn from the light through the window. Her son sent her an image of him invisible in the sky above, urgently telling her to wake. She shifted in the dark room. The fire had long since gone out.

Jaskier still slept soundly on the carpet. She sat up and noticed Geralt was standing by the door, sword in hand. His eyes cut to her as she sat up. 

As her eyes adjusted, she saw that he put a finger to his lips to keep quiet. She froze as she listened, but her human ears heard nothing. Then, in her mind a burst of yellow, a flash of dark rippling black armor. Geralt’s eyes cut to her again. _Geralt was speaking to her mind to mind._

Thinking it must be like speaking to her son, she sent back the image of the band of deserters they encountered in the woods a few days ago. Geralt nodded. 

Suddenly, he moved on silent feet to Jaskier and heaved the sleeping bard onto his shoulder. She stood and gathered what he hadn’t already as they made for the door. Thankfully, it opened on silent hinges to the dark hallway. Daenerys still heard nothing.

They both froze as Daenerys saw an image of a group of ten shoulders making way to the inn through the front door. Drogon appeared to be communicating with them both about the threat. 

They made their way quickly to the back door to the privies. Jaskier was thankfully silently and obliviously sleeping on Geralt’s shoulder. 

They made it to the back of the inn and one of the most horrible smells Daenerys had encountered since King’s Landing. Geralt gestured with his head to the back side of the barn so they could collect Roach.

The barn was empty and their trackers were still bogged down in the tavern of the Inn; the barmaid from before seemed to have woken up and was asking if they wanted ale, thankfully so. Daenerys was certain that only Geralt’s hearing was allowing her to hear the murmurs of their conversation. Their connection was more potent now, like their kiss had linked them more tightly, but still only glimpses and messages.

They chanced more speed and more noise. As they approached Roach and quickly saddled her, Geralt threw Jaskier onto the saddle which finally roused him.

“WHAT---” Geralt quickly put his hand over the bard’s mouth, who was quick to understand the general gist of the circumstances as he hunched and rubbed his eyes, mouthing sorry.

Daenerys turned to Geralt and raised her brows, gesturing to Roach. It wasn’t possible for Roach, as strong as she was, to comfortably carry all three of them and their bags out of the town at speed. Geralt ground his teeth in frustration knowing she was right. 

From Jaskier’s perspective, it looked rather funny, no doubt seeing a conversation take place in aggravation between them entirely in silent and mental pantomime. Jaskier’s eyes shifted between them in fascination--he was still a bit drunk too.

Daenarys had made up her mind and made to run to the field behind the barn. Geralt grabbed her wrist.

“No.” He said in a firm loud whisper, the fear almost hidden behind the demand in his eyes.

She touched his cheek as her gaze softened a bit; then she yanked a piece of his hair, smirk proud on her face and pointed to her head, indicating she could communicate mentally with him and broke free of his grasp to meet her son who had already started to land at her command. 

He sighed and sent an image that she remained hidden and safe no matter what they saw and resumed prepping Roach with speed.

For a second Geralt thought to try to command Drogon not to land to prevent Daenerys from mounting him. But it was quite clear to him then, that Geralt could only communicate with Drogon through Daenerys, like she was the conduit between them.

Without pausing in her run, Daenerys trusted her son to be exactly where he told her he was as she swung herself up an invisible dragon hide and urged him to fly. Once her skin made contact with her son’s, she too vanished from sight.

Geralt mounted up as well once he sensed they were in the air and clipped Roach into a gallop sending the image of where to go that he hoped was clear enough to Daenerys and Drogon.

All Jaskier could do was hold on for dear life. 

Geralt could smell the Nilfgaardian soldiers as they emptied out of the inn into the streets as they moved by. 

He used a gust of his wind magic to mask their tracks as they escaped into the woods.

********

After four hours of hard galloping, Geralt urged Daenarys and Drogon to stop as he knew he couldn’t push Roach much further without harming her. By some miracle, neither he nor the infinitely more perceptive Drogon could smell or hear the Nilfgaardian scouting party following them. But, he did catch the glimpse of dark black smoke over the next rise through Drogon’s sharp eyes and the foul smell of death. If it was what he suspected, they’d need to stop and prepare.

The early morning sun was hidden behind dark clouds that threatened moisture on this dreary day.

Jaskier had been very well behaved, if he said so himself. So he felt it was more than time to break the silence of their mad dash through the forest that finally led them to a field of tall grasses.

“Geralt, honestly, you would think the Nilfgaardians themselves were pursuing us---”

“They are.” Geralt said as he stopped and dismounted bowing his head in thanks against Roach’s.

“Oh. OH! God! She _is_ an elf isn’t she!? Where is she?! Did you let her stay behind and fight on our behalf? You really have changed haven’t you.” Jaskier dismounted and came around to scold Geralt who merely sighed and looked at Jaskier--excited to see whether he would shit himself with what he was about to witness.

Daenerys had already confirmed with Geralt that it was safe for her and Drogon to land and drop their glamour to regroup.

“You actually left her behind! I cannot believe you Geralt. You are a walking string of abandonment issues aren’t you?!” Jaskier laid his hand on Geralt’s shoulder who could do nothing but chuckle at his assumptions as he watched his friend’s face once the most magnificent dragon he had ever seen and Daenerys appeared in the field before them.

“HOLY FUCKING ODIN’S BLUE BALLS!!!!” Jaskier fell over onto his ass in the dirt as Daenerys slid easily down her son’s back as he stretched and positioned his wings, nearly preening for the audience.

She snorted as she drew nearer to her companions. Geralt was chuckling harder than he had in a long time.

“Was that really necessary?” She said with mirth to Geralt as she bent over to help Jaskier, who was still dumbstruck, to his feet.

“You--how--wha--” Daenerys smiled at him.

“Jaskier, meet my son, Drogon.” Jaskier’s mouth opened like a fish out of water.

“Your sonnnnnn??” His voice squeaked at the end.

“It’s a long story.” Geralt said as he went to brush Roach.

“I see now what the Nilf’s are probably after.” Jaskier said in wonder as he viewed Drogon safely from a distance with Geralt, Roach, and Daenerys between them, you know, just in case.

“What was it that you and Drogon could sense up ahead? It smells so foul.” Daenerys said as she took a swig from a canteen.

“Looks like the Nilf’s are still slaying refugees. There used to be a camp up ahead.”

“Women and children?” Daenerys said through her teeth.

Geralt nodded. She turned to head back toward her son.

He grabbed her vambrace. 

“There’s nothing that you can do for them now.” Her brows furrowed.

Jaskier knew what that meant.

“O, great. Ghouls? I hate ghouls.” 

Daenerys sighed in sadness, not totally understanding, but guessing.

“Can we avoid them?”

“It’s the only way to get to Sodden. That’s where Yenn is, I can feel it.”

He was already gearing up, she noticed, putting on an extra sword and daggers.

“Let me help you this time.” She said with firmness.

“No. It could be a trap meant to lure us into a difficult fight to get to you. I can move silently enough and take care of the ghouls, make sure it’s safe.”

She set her jaw. 

“We will follow you to the edge of the camp, I won’t let you go off that far by yourself.” She had seen the vision from Drogon as well, knew it was a mile or more away.

He swallowed and realized without some compromise she would never heed his words.

“Fine, but we go now, before the scouts behind catch up.” She nodded and went once more to mount her son.

Jaskier grumbled as he got back on Roach, preparing for a fight.

*****

Once they were less than a quarter of a mile from the former camp, the sky above had darkened noticeably and lengthened the shadows of the former camp to near night beneath the tree line. It would be difficult for even Geralt to see without a potion. He downed his sight potion and mentally urged Daenerys to stay airborne and hidden. 

He dismounted and tightened his gauntlets and vambraces, preparing for a difficult fight. He could smell at least ten ghouls moving in the camp.

He turned to Jaskier and they shared a knowing glance. Jaskier had been in this situation before, knew it would be a difficult fight even for Geralt, but he also knew his own limits and that he wouldn’t be much help.

“Jaskier. . .”

“It’s alright, Geralt. I forgive you. I’ll keep Roach safe. Just come back safe yourself.” 

They shared a nod and Geralt sent a final check on Daenerys whose purple eyes he felt like a caress in his mind.

At Geralt’s gesture, Jaskier led Roach further back from the trees, just in case. 

As soon as Geralt crossed the treeline into the camp he saw that the earth wasn’t just darkened due to shadows, but blood. He took his steps cautiously with enhanced vision, the surface area of his eyes consumed by black pupils. With how the carnage was directed, this looked more and more deliberate on the part of the Nilfs to prevent them from progressing any further at speed, especially given the secretive scouting party moving in the cover of night while they rested at the inn.

He had to fight to suppress his growl at how innocents were used as pawns.

The first ghoul he saw met its end before it was even aware of Geralt’s movement. He decapitated the next two with ease as he moved deeper to the epicenter of the smell of death in the camp. Most of the ghouls seemed dazed, as though they had just woken up or were bewitched. His ears sharpened in concentration. This reeked of magical interference.

He came to an extinguished campfire and saw the corpses of children grouped together and grimaced in horror and sadness. He could feel Daenerys’ rage seething as his emotions burned through their bond, the images reaching her more strongly due to his own distress. He closed his eyes briefly to force himself back into control, taking out his rage at the suffering of the children on 3 more ghouls, slicing through them with vengeance. 

Having Daenerys’ emotions surging through him in addition to his own was almost more than he could bear. Thankfully, Drogon’s energy had not found a way to cross through Daenerys to his own mind yet. He had no idea how she was managing having this three way link between them.

He passed a large, partly collapsed tent that seemed to serve as a group sleeping area from the smell of death and quickly dispatched another 3 ghouls with quick swinging movements of his blade. 

As he rounded the front of the tent, he realized the cause for the smell and grit his teeth.

All at once, a group of ten ghouls rose from a pile of corpses that stood as tall as a man in the camp’s center; the deliberateness of this setup no doubt to him now. 

With the single minded focus of a predator seeking to protect his pack and knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep them all from biting him, Geralt drew his second blade and widened his stance in preparation.

*****

Daenerys only saw flashes and glimpses of what transpired below while she was aloft on Drogon. It was quite obvious that Geralt was attempting to keep her from seeing too much and acting rashly and likely from distracting himself with their connection; but it was enough to make Drogon unsettled beneath her. 

When she saw the massacred children, she could feel the power of the flames rumbling in her heart and her son’s belly, seeking retribution and justice for such heinous cruelty. The image was sharp with Geralt’s disgust; it nearly overwhelmed her. The visual quality of their connection withdrew again as Geralt got a handle on his reactions.

She felt Geralt’s swiftness, the grace of his swordsmanship and she clenched her son’s scales in wait.

When he encountered the largest group of these fiends yet her breath came in a great gasp as she felt his resignation. But, her connection to him blinked out like a door slamming in her mind. The last instinct she felt was an urgent but strained message of _stay away_ in her mind’s eye from Geralt. 

She felt the discomfort in her son too as it nearly knocked her off her saddle aboard his back. This bond between the three of them was still in its infancy and she certainly couldn’t pretend to completely understand it, but she knew he was in trouble.

It seemed entirely possible to her that a trap may be afoot, given the use of magic in this world she had witnessed thus far. But, she was a dragon and she was _tired_ of staying out of the fight. 

Drogon knew her mind and their need to protect and they banked hard and dove for the tree line, wind whipping her braid with ferocity. Daenerys grit her teeth in exhilaration at the thrill of battle and desperation to reach him in time.

She sent the need to stay low and not attract too much attention to her son and to above all else, protect Geralt. Drogon rumbled his enthusiastic reply. 

As they came about and approached the treeline, Drogon nearly touched down in the sparse field where Jaskier was waiting anxiously. Their glamour vanished as Daenerys searched her mind and through the trees for a hint of Geralt.

_Where are you?_ She called out to him in her mind. He was eerily silent, whereas before when he shut their connection it was merely muted, now it felt almost blank.

Jaskier yelled at them.

“What’s going on?! Is Geralt OK?” Daenerys didn’t answer as she weighed her options. 

She knew this grouping of trees was narrow enough that she wouldn’t burn the entire forest if she went for it and they were too close together to enter directly with Drogon. She would have to trust her son and their new bond with Geralt. Then like an answer to her thoughts, Drogon sent an image of leaving a narrow path unburnt in the woods, the path to what they sought. He could feel where Geralt was.

Her mind screamed out to Geralt to get ready. The strength of the call must have done something for she saw nothing but felt his pain and frustrated relief. He was hurt and needed her! She could wait no longer. She sat up tall on her son as his wings beat to keep in a hover above the ground and her mind and her sons were one in their task.

“Dracarys!”

With his wide-open and magnificent maw, Drogon let loose a canon of flame directly on the tree line and the lingering ghouls, leaving only a narrow path unburnt--like the path Geralt’s steps took through the woods.

“HOLY SHIT!!” Jaskier screamed behind them. Dragons existing in this realm, but none like Drogon and none could do such a thing much less on command. 

They banked around the wall of trees, making a fire line that seared forward that no ghoul could go through. With only a subconscious thought, Drogon seamlessly shifted his weight and wing and Daenerys did something she had never had the gall to do before, she slid down Drogon’s wing to get smoothly to the ground, landing hard on her bottom. _Need to work on my landing._

With no time to ponder the new possibilities with her son, She got up and ran for the fire as her son set down to guard her flank.

“WHAT! NOT THAT WAY! It’s on FIRE!” Jaskier screamed wondering why she was heading toward the flames. Without turning back, she walked right through the fire, Jaskier shrieking behind her. It was a testament to the quality of her armor that it didn’t melt instantly as she walked through the wall of flames. All around her she saw the monstrous creatures that Geralt called ghouls purified by the fire and sent to their death. There seemed to have been hundreds of them. _A trap._

Down the unburnt path Drogon left, she saw a flash of white and ran. 

“Geralt!” He was still on his feet, fighting a group of 3, but was heavily favoring his left arm and shoulder. The second sword in that arm drooped to the ground. She screamed as she made for the ghoul on his left and shoved the creature into the fire.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” He yelled in her ear at her recklessness.

“Saving your life.” She yelled back.

He growled at her as he dispatched the last ghoul to his right and its corpse fell into the fire around them.

He growled again and was about to respond as he winced and stumbled. Daenerys was by his side in an instant, taking the sword from his left arm and wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“Did you intend to bring the entire forest down in flame around me?” He said, smirking, but still angry once she was close and touching him.

“It was the only way to cease your stubbornness.” Her face grew pale as she could feel the slickness of his blood on her hands as he leaned on her.

They stumbled their way back through the flames and into the field where Drogon clicked, happy to see them and Jaskier waited anxiously to the side holding Roach’s reins.

“By now you’ve likely brought all of the Nilf’s to us at this point. We don’t have much time.” Geralt said in obvious pain and made to stand up away from her help as though preparing to flee or fight again.

Jaskier rushed over. 

“Did they bite you?”

“Leave it! You have to flee or they’ll catch her and Drogon.” He shoved at Jaskier desperation in his eyes and moved to lift his swords and get away from them.

“I’ll buy you both time.” He said over his shoulder, sweat on his brow as he fought to stay focused. Daenerys’ eyes narrowed.

“Like HELL you will.” Jaskier’s eyes widened in shock but agreement as she took command, instantly understanding Geralt’s stubborn martyrdom.

“I agree with the fire-proof Elf Queen. I’ll use Roach to lead them in a different direction.” He was already removing the bag of potions and handing it to Daenerys. She nodded to Jaskier in thanks.

“I’ll find you again.” She put her free hand on Jaskier’s cheek in silent thanks.

“He’ll need one of those potions if he’s been bitten.” Geralt’s eyes were already getting unfocused as he swayed on his feet and she knew they had to hurry.

He sighed as she took his arm over her shoulder again.

“You are more fierce than I gave you credit for.” His form of thank you as his life’s blood was hot on her hands.

She walked him over to Drogon and pushed him forward.

Thankfully, he had enough strength to climb up, though awkwardly and grip Drogon.

Daenerys climbed up as well, seating herself in front of him, so he could lean on her back.

“Hold on to me.” Without a second though they were airborne as the sound of booted feet reached their minds through Drogon’s most sensitive ears.

“Here they come.” Geralt said in her ears.

Jaskier made Roach move in a big, messy, galloping circle where Drogon had touched down to muddy their tracks a bit and took off into the woods to the east as Geralt and Daenerys rose up and assumed their glamor flying west. 

Geralt was leaning on her more heavily. He grumbled in her ear.

“You smell like a lightning storm over the ocean,” Mumbled sleepily in her ear.

“Hold on!” She urged Drogon to fly faster, making for a solitary outcropping of rock over a great canyon she saw in the distance.

  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
